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



what’s it like,  love in future tense

( you think we sacrificed intensity for time? )
( maybe there’s always been beauty in urgency )

this is not turbulence. only free flowing

( you think we’ve traded luxuries? )
( clock hand movements for      space and
one and a half hour commute )
(not         double       digits )

did we douse the fire    did we smother it like a
child’s scream

stopped  wanting to show      ( other person)   around and no longer excited for this town. there is no light                                                                                                there is no light no desire
to   dip   our   fingers   in   the   ink   of   each   residential   border   and   hope  it  stains   us.

( please let the lampposts whisper our names as we skip past )
( please i want this to hurt so bad when you’re gone )
( please i want projector screens in my head with each step flooding. dripping with every )
( step )
( every sand-grain slip between
cracks. )( this is our hourglass that i cracked
willingly, and traded
for longevity )( and the familiar warmth )
( or so i thought )
( when it’s a new sun
everyday  )