four thousand and–

here is a song, drenched in sweet sunshine
your  footsteps
in our borders
that overlooks three, four, and it shows
and it beeps. in every gocard tap it hits
in every junction
all the soft bougainvilleas combed
and your mother’s natural rock garden
bed walls. and your sister the rose
when we’re literal
with autumn reserved for lovers
and leaving all our friends
tell me we don’t need them
we can build homes with coopers pale
emptied and ash out the windowsill.
you can kiss my eyelids and i can feel
not small again. lack of p-plates
with just feet conquering hills.
so it’s my hair that’s longer now
we don’t have to
pick up secondhand ikea
from the streets of clayfield, anymore
and know i love you from the courtyard
of the church to the hospital’s, your
card won’t work.
i wish we had a copy of daytripper each
and maybe both on our thighs, but it’s
okay. it’s fine