Your voice isn't like a song Or a prayer. It's more like a secret. I am selfish and don't want to share it. I wan't to catch it in a jar with fresh air and the scent of pine trees A bottle to mix it with carbonated bubbles An envelope filled with letters never written. I want you shrunken down and curled up in the curved shell of my ear. Whisper, scream, sing, laugh, mutter. I have a seven-track mind and I'd like you to narrate them all for me. Read me your homework, your favourite book, your shopping lists, the ingredients of your shampoo. The breaths and lilts and stutters Keep it raw and new and open And I'm honoured. Share the secret with me.