If We Stitch Ourselves Together, We'll Never Be Alone

I'm waiting for him in the rain,
umbrella unopened
hair
wet and heavy


I could easily duck under the shelter
of a Brunswick St
shopfront

but it seems more romantic this way

my lashes dripping
eyes searching
every passer by
for the familiar,

'Hello, darling'.

Then, they arrive
in matching helmets,
an unexpected
double happiness

and we eat burgers
and talk about boys.

Later that night,
we're perched
on the side of my
unmade bed
collaborating over
the transformation
of a white lace dress

and I enjoy
the closeness

thick as thieves

tearing up the stitches
but
sewing something
more important
deliberately,
carefully

a friendship
of rainy street meetings
and
confessions
sharing the ridiculous
and the profound

and a white lace dress,
with the potential to be
so much more.


(For my friend Russ Pirie, let the stitches never come undone)