It's half past eight. In this housing estate,
Dooradoyle, Limerick cars are stirring, going to work.
God I'm so ******. Spent the night watching
9/11 conspiracies, South Park and Family Guy.
I sent you a txt at five past one.
Wish I could have whispered it into your ear.
I know it will be hours before you wake.

The thing with having small arms —
it drives you to reach the top shelf.
The moment you were born, Charlie Lennon
composed The Dawn Chorus
to signal a day; glorious,
still far from over.  

When I stay over, you’re 9ft away —
alone in another room. May as well
be a mile past the edge of the universe.
You give me your jumper to take to bed,
to touch, to smell. And again,
as I am leaving home; as now —
sober, on a bus back to Galway. It's raining,
but I'm in love with you.