it's not late [2004]

‘…neither I nor the glittering road can tell if you are still breathing there

gap teeth, bucket seat…fast toward home

I hum softly in warning to not initiate conversation

in a parallel universe we have met long before now -

pulling into gas stations, filling the tank and just driving

out along these endless streets that move simultaneously toward and away from the epicentre

blurring through the city maze of deserted corners

and the lives being lived behind curtains that turn their backs to us

[it’s not late] [it’s not late]

I have to work tomorrow but [it’s not too late for this]

I feel the brake beneath your foot, wonder why we’re turning

your secret prolonged in the only car space in the street

you turn off the engine just as children rush into whisper welcomes through the hole in the roof

I close my eyes

wait for their echoes to die down

trying hard not to think what you are thinking so hard about

you make me wait in darkness at the door

your actions seem remiss of habit and yet surprisingly automatic

computer, lamp, lamp

no fuss…just a blush rising up to cover the paintings on your walls

until the door is half open and you are gone

I find you under the stairs

perched on the edge of the bath like you are settling in

and there you begin the second most sacred ritual of your daily life

a strangeness to all eyes but yours:

bony feet, crimson tipped, hold the shower door open while you cultivate green rivers in your palm

lathering hands reveal eyes ravaged by hungry lids

fighting to keep not only the acid away

you are gently revealing the face you were born with

plainer by far than the two more colourful facades you have adorned this evening – both grace and lust

yet much more remarkable

simply for it’s significance – removing the air between us

allowing whatever this is the end or beginning of that your toes are knitting into the bathmat…'