There’s wind, and there’s rain, and at this particular moment in time, there’s a cigarette with your name on it as the hum of an air conditioning unit that sounds like a choir of junkies doing their best to belt out something by Sinatra roars somewhere below our feet. Taking notes in a small notepad, there’s a reflection of you I secretly watch while fantasising about biting your lips. The way you twist and turn. The way you skip between the streets along with all those ghosts I spent the best part of ten years trying to quieten with no success. And then along you came, and how you stirred up so much shit, but I’m glad you did. Yeah, I’m glad you did. There are empty rooms where our blurry outlines still frolic after all this time. There are voices that whisper to us through the open windows of our room that say the same things they did back when we were kids. Keep seeking. Keep seeing. Draw a door, and step right through it. Wade into the waters of a river you know so well and swim with the swans beneath the oily sky as if it were insane to be doing anything else. I see you in so many mirrors. I see you in so many windows and try as I might, there’s no escaping what you are. Step on my toes and suck my neck. Dig your nails into the palms of my hands and be my angel. Be my queen. Be gracious, be quick. This storm won’t last forever, and neither will we. There’s a wind that howls, and a TV screen that shows the birth of the universe. There’s a branch of a tree that scratches at the window, and sirens of a cop car to remind us we are never far from harm.