standing offer/birthday saints

I could offer you
a plate of pancakes or a riverboat,
to jump ship or the purchase of several
pounds' worth of finally finished;
lamb's ears soft and green,
phrases in a basket, all lobster-
and salt-coloured; I could offer you
a cup of ocean, a handful of islets,
a kiss on the back of your neck;
a tribe of pencil-thin men
with long moustaches and
sandy hair to
be your friends and offer
curt advice.

I could offer you curds of cheese,
clotted cream, impertinent remarks;
I could offer you a
sudden burst of solid insight
the colour of canals and orange rinds;
I could sing you to sleep
filmgrain songs and my head
on your lap; I could risk losing you
to a girl made of brown sugar, I could
welcome you home to a wasps' nest.
I could let you love my hair,
I could love your biscuit teeth,
I could be the colour of grapes and black beans,
I could be obscure, and unflattering,
and yours;
standing saints,
birthday offer.