Childlike

Hold me in the crass reverence
Of saints, knighted sheep
With my blood and bones
Against the same duvet
Blanketing the game of thrones

Fool me, with confirming identity
Each particulate trajectory-
Leaves my bottom lip
Waiting for wave-punctuation
It’s all a conscientous function

To have my ankles
Roll against the motor
Of bandwagons, and jesters

The de facto lineage
Permeating the twist, lurge and go-go
Before I embark 
On the inertia of my sanity
Would you promise to hold me?