Jacarandas explode into purple
in empty streets
at dusk.

They feel the heat like I feel it
and I wish I could cover myself in flowers
like they do

because they love this town
like I love you

Quietly,

and with flowers.

There is a reckless quality to Street
bathed in street-
light, hiding shadows

In plane sight angles shift
behind other angles, deliberately Obtuse
as if to say 'Here I am!'

Here I am

Not
(look again)

One upon a time, there was
a meeting of the minds,
A hot frisson of hunger;
an electric tingle down the spine.

Of course, we've had insulation put in since then. It's practically paid for itself already, hasn't it darling?

There is a tapping on the glass
of windows closed against the night
A morse-encoded love-affair
between a moth
and the fluorescent light