Early afternoon, 25th September.
Today I walked with you
through the streets of Melbourne
dream-soaked, soft-spoken, inattentive.
Caro walked on my left, while you,
my darling,
strolled invisibly visible on my right.
The Plane trees made whimsical attempts
at promenade shade with just a scatter
of new minted leaves.
Webbed platypi paws stroked
billabong skies
greening light sporadically.
I glimpsed you up there
Puckishly perched
amongst the sturdy, thigh-wide-sky branches.
Dried seed head clusters,
autumnal survivors
bobbed kernel-nodding agreement
yes, spring's the season for cavorting in trees.
Before birds brood, nesting-serious
and Swanston Street breeds blue obligatory
fairy light festooned aflourishings.
You made me giggle (you always do)
pulling a naughty face
as we climbed the steep knee-cracking narrow-staired entrance
to lunch at Gopel's
where lavender walls swirled with lotus motifs
and a nose-ringed, saried waif serving curry
was as dinky di as a Shirl or Kylie
but had evolved a Mumbai accent to support Kristna beliefs.
.
Today I walked through the streets of Melbourne
drizzle-dampened, body aching, whoozy
from lack of sleep.
I was so happy.
YOU ARE READING
Borealis Love
PoetryLove - what does that word mean, what does it comprise? Do we always recognise it when faced with it? Do we value it when we ought to do so? Do we squander it when it is too easily given? Do we ever understand until it has left us and we are left to...
