it's been long.

i love you as certain dark things are to be loved.
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

- Pablo Neruda.

I can watch, and hope, and pray that you like this daydream.
That I made just for you, handsome.

he's a newbie. i'm still trying to think of a name. i'm considering my mum's suggestion:
Moulin, parce qu'il est rouge.

when david came to visit.

upon the ground, all cradled in grass.

ANZAC Sunday.

well i didn't tell anyone, but a bird flew by.
saw what i'd done - he'd set up a nest outside
and he sang about what i'd become
he sang so loud, sang so clear
i was afraid all the neighbours would hear.

so i invited him in just to reason with him.
i promised i wouldn't do it again.

but he sang louder and louder inside the house
and now i couldn't get him out.
so i trapped him under a cardboard box
stood on it to make him stop.
picked up the bird, and above the din
i said "that's the last song you'll ever sing".

held him down, broke his neck.
taught him a lesson he wouldn't forget.

coming home