Damn hormones

I used to be privy to secret men’s business – looks, words, instruments, costumes. It’s a language all but lost to me now though. I don’t know when or where I lost it… on that carved tree by the creek I think… or that steep hill in Auchenflower. But it’s gone.

I used to watch him shave for hours (he was a Bunyip), he used to whisper mysteries to me through sprays of water, I heard him sing, I saw him become mass & matter, then fade back into thought & distant gaze. I felt it all & carry it with me still. A muffled shot echoing dully through empty rooms.

I used to idealise, now I know: what’s past is dead & memories can still hurt more than realities.

… & I should stop drinking red wine alone.