The Hug

Holy shit, him
           here he comes,
he wants to hug,
           heaven help me,
arms flung wide,
           wings of a raptor.	

Behold incipience
           blowsily bloom
to denouement 
           like a time-lapse peony:

He goes for the shoulders,
           heads choose sides.	
Please! says my body
           on petrified legs,
warmth at my neck,
           a boa of flesh.
	
The monster Abasement
           swallows me down
begrudging me only
           a plausible smile
and a hearty “Hi, Henry!”