Now that I am here at last…

…I am in awe of you once more, for you have saved me again. From that which, until this afternoon, I could barely bring myself to utter in thought. In the present flood, I adore you. To call it any less would be a lie. Back then, in the hazy remembering, where only certain things…

Le retour du printemps

… Then they were in their spring, their bright emergent hope. Girls. Boys. Budding into sex and fumbling, tender belief. On the crest of hormones and heartache. Theirs was the eternity of boundless tomorrow. The widescreen romance of aching desire and the blizzard lust of newly invented love. Here the peaks of exception; vaulting the…

My ten year love letter to no one

The art of the billet-doux is not dead (and neither am I)          You may well ask – with some justification, I might add – why anyone would dedicate themselves to the writing of over 600 love letters across a ten year period without sending any of them. You may also wonder for whom these unmailed…

They are all you

Ever since I met you, I have always known. It is not that they are shadows, nor you their ghostly forebear. Neither do they replace you, or simply stand in your place. They shall not follow in your wake, nor wear thy lovely crown. The shiver of your love shall not be stilled in their…

If we might still mend it with kindness

Already, it has begun. The slow uncoupling. The incremental shifting of orbit. The quiet cellaring of doubts – earmarked as likely ammunition. Yet I wonder if we might still mend it with kindness. For not so long ago we were a kind, as though we had reached across the unbridgeable gulf between souls and seen…

Watch our award winning ‘meta’ romance!

TWO is an award winning ‘meta’ romance; where the post-modern boy/girl thing suddenly gets very real and the rules of engagement change forever. Love may well be a game – until you get hurt. Because one & one will always make two. Shot in around St Kilda in 2010, this minimalist 53 minute romance was…

Love letter # 478 Every year at this time I fall in love with you again. For a few weeks from mid-September my body remembers. Not in words or pictures. In quickening. A tension sweet and low and giddy. On bright evenings I breathe in honey. I glide, as though you had just bestowed your…

Behold them in the triumph of light

What now, if anything, shall we wrest from sediment? When the pretty lights have faded to fallen husk, what shall we make of burnt out shells? This, my love, is what awaits us this spring. In the garden of history, the archaeology of whispers. Here now, bones of fire. Brush the dirt from fragments, reconstruct…

Love letter # 467 In clear headed moments I know you no longer think of me as I still think of you; and I am fine with this. I do not seek to rewrite history. When you said you loved me, you meant it –  just as you did, minutes later, when you said you…

Love letter # 477 They don’t have to know the truth – just something they can believe that will make them leave us alone.

Love letter # 862 When you moved away, you took the world with you. A gutted replica remained. The outline of something, nearly nothing. I traversed the hollow streets – the excavated avenues – and how they did echo. The empty rooms we left behind. A resonant quiet in place of song. That was years…

Love letter # 517 For what have I yielded, for what airs have I thrown up shutters to inrush? What hath impelled me to cede once guarded ground? Tis not for God or other compulsion. Tis not for reckless chance. I do not seek release from solitude, nor the flattery of the becoming eye. Yet,…

From afar

I have seen you from afar Across impossible distance The space between vision I noted tiny details From the vantage of strangers Through this blood borne prism So nearly have I touched you Vaulting infinite regress To swing within your rhythm I have never breathed your name Nor heard such outward sighs Yet still I…

Love letter # 465 How much evidence is required before bold declarations are broadcast? How long to wait before saying aloud that which is screaming within? By what metric do I reach such heated conclusion? Perhaps if we did not reduce everything to the reputedly rational, I would not be in this fix. This missive…

Love letter # 474 The once tangible force of your presence has become a kind of archaeology. Fossilised remains. Dead pictures, pressed flat by time. The world we once fashioned with our tender belief compressed to a hush of breath. A clock ticks. It counts the leftover jewels in our crown. We, who made as…