It’s nearly halloween and it’s 9:47 on Saturday night. Everyone is so in love this evening.

Someone taps me on the shoulder as I am crossing the Flinders and Swanston Street intersection. It’s a man, I feel his strength, but I don’t turn around.
Passing a set of automatic doors I glance in for a second and there is a couple who might have missed each other for any number of moments, meeting again in this sharp yet somehow supple light.

Their embrace is surreal to witness. I feel like it is a private moment and I an intruder. I feel like I shouldn’t have paused for that second.
He held her face so tenderly in these huge, olive hands and brought her mouth to his.
They are smiling and their energies mesh. I see their auras intertwining. All their primary colours become secondary, then tertiary in this incredible metamorphosis.

I am jealous

I thought that maybe I had never been in love because my failed relationships were full of manipulation and alarmingly high heart rates but for all the wrong reasons. Fast out of nerves but not butterflies; tears but not of elation.

But I know love because I’ve fallen into that quicksilver and let it wholly envelop me, rebirth me veiled in silver. I inhaled the liquid right into my lungs and let it run through my veins. Pump life in sporadic palpitations and caress me from the inside out.
Perhaps I am just a stupid, young girl and not the intelligent woman I supposed I am but I may never know until it is too late.

They say romance is dead and I guess I decided it were so because I was missing it, brushed off the idea of being taken out to dinner and a film or laid amongst goose down and kissed longingly, gifted flowers or a book for no damn reason at all.

I dream of the fairy tale romance. Hand penned letters sealed with a kiss and signed:

I am ever yours, Camille
all my love,
from the very stars burning in our sky to the
blackest depths of our oceans and the vastness of our infinite universe….

Though fairies may be but myth and perhaps your love is not mine to cradle, only time will tell and time is one cruel mistress.
That is no dream; that is a nightmare.

Every hand I peer at is holding another or on the arm of their lover. Spirits are laughing and kissing everywhere, all around me is a resounding atmosphere of love.

I felt alone; I feel alone.

Part of me wishes that a stranger will approach me, just for conversation. Perhaps they’d compliment me and I’d fake a giggle at the halfhearted flattery. They’d ask me why I am wearing two different shades of electric eyeshadow and why I am alone,
I’d have no answer.
Perhaps I’d put on an accent and make up some monumental lie about how I am a famous writer under the guise of being untitled and only publishing online. Maybe I am the Banksy of the literary world. And I come from some part of England or America, because those are my most convincing accents. I’d be brilliant in this story, maybe even genius and I’d be far more beautiful than I ever have been because intellect can do that to a face.
Or perhaps I’d just mutter the truth. Tell them I’m a student hairdresser wannabe writer who wants to move to America and forget about my prior life full of time wasted and depression.
That’s the thing about strangers who never learn your name, you can be anyone and they’d never know the difference.

I take up space I feel isn’t mine to take in the city centre and scan the crowd. Melbourne’s fashion staple is black but tonight is colourful. I have been sitting here all of an hour and seen at least two dozen Harley Quinn’s, a group of Disney princesses and far too much skin.

All eyes are gazing and chancing upon faces; some for the very first time. It is as though time stands still for those falling newly. They learn the voices of their partners to be and engage in explosive, drunken conversation.
Sure, I recognise that some would be as ships passing in the night but I know some would be ships docking for permanent harbour. Sparks and fireworks; happily ever after and all that.

I am destined for a moonless night sky, at least for now.

But now is all I know. Now is my familiarity and now is vacant in this city of roughly five million on this costumed eve full of laughter and dazzling frocks.

Struggling to negotiate sensations confined to oblivion

Yesterday I came to realise that I have wholly forgotten how it feels to be kissed;
kissed and held and adored
How it feels to see the world in slow-motion
and be seen drenched in broad, wide-angled sunlight
Even how it feels to have my fringe brushed from my eyes on a windy day
my hair tousseled and pulled in a frenzy of intimacy
hands keenly grasping at my back and front and sides
fingernails tearing my skin, leaving wounds to be healed with tender kiss
The sensation of face angular and unconditional
pressed into my hair when behind me lay a man with burning desire to engulf my whole self; mind, body and soul

How it feels to be held in the throes of love

I’m good at stumbling but I don’t want to be

I blink
the prior silence interrupted
by the sound of my upper and lower water lines
meeting for a brief moment
like business men
accidentally bumping briefcases
in an attempt to power through revolving doors

I remember walking amongst the
Eucalyptus when I was fourteen
and watching a koala fall from several metres up
I stood beside myself
and saw my eyes widen then squint
I saw how awful my posture was
I saw an ugly, petite girl who didn’t fit in the crowd
sure to bloom into a woman
just as unsightly and dainty
just as odd
kind of like blue coloured food
just not ordinary

I become more and more lost
and all that ails me doubles, triples
then hits me ten fold
because lately my mothers answer to everything
has been
take a snifter of cognac
I look at her with stained glass eyes
heavy through the coloured panes and
lead divisional’s obstructing my vision
the alcohol will not dull the
mess of voices inside my head
or stitch up that strange empty pocket in my heart
the tourniquet is useless
I keep stuffing it with gauze
when I run out I use socks
and scraps of fabric but
they all get swallowed by this impossibly red ooze

what’s the point?

Borders and skirts

Have you ever been to the edge of the world,
to the very brink of eternity
stood their feelin’ like a child again and
thought to yourself aloud
                   “shit, it’s a really long way down from up here,
                                      infinity is a pretty dark pit”
and pondered, and pondered

….and pondered….

Because I have
and I found that I am very small
Smaller than even a sweet, little swallow
flitting her wings with free range of the world
her voice honeyed and palpable
I feel it coiling through my hair
and I cradle it in my hands

I found that my very quiddity
is strong yet submissive
It is not above me to obey quietly
give thanks that is well deserved and
ask in pleas for help when I am barely crawling on my knees
in the mud and moss
nor is it beyond my short reach
to kick and scream
and fight for all I hold most dearly

I am hybrid
I am finite

When all seems frail, remember that I am here

I’m not one for flimsy, graphite ambitions or intentions

My promises are not erasable

they decorate walls with lead paint

My love is a deep, red wine stain

if I spill myself on your button down

know I do not act coincidentally

you could try a white

to counteract the blemish

but still I will remain

Deep in the wefts of your fabric

and years may pass us by

decades even

still my love will cling to you like

the magnets on my refrigerator

I am unshakable

A plethoric nexus of

memories and truths is my adhesive

like a tube of superglue with no cap

I’m sticky stuck to my emotions

and if you are not careful I may become

sticky stuck to you


I sit at a café at the train station in the middle of the city. Melbourne is bustling at half five in the afternoon. For all the commotion surrounding me I feel entirely unnoticed, lonely and almost invisible. Were it not for the tapping on my keyboard I would be a ghost.

Or perhaps I am, regardless.

There are a pair of very fat, little sparrows watching me as I type.

I have my laptop splayed open in front of me and a mug of overpriced caramel hot chocolate between my arms as my fingers graze the keyboard. My eyes do not stray from the monitor, I am fixated on the text that seems to magically appear in sporadic bursts.

I’m doing the all to familiar courtship with my computer and brain. Words flow freely for moments at a time then I forget how to think or what language my mother tongue is.

Slowly I lure text from words silently mouthed until my fingers are a blur of movement once more. Touch typing faster and faster as my mind whirs and the cogs within me are spinning and jarring at an alarming rate.

I write of being romanced and falling in love, like whoops:
the world suddenly looks upside down and my heels are reeling about above my head. The fluttering in my chest cavity is becoming rhythmic and my cheeks are flushed flamingo pink.

I feel empty and full in the same breath. My organs, all but my heart, have evaporated and been replaced with fuzzy warmth.

I write of depression and guilt.
I write how sad I am or how confused,
or angry,
or hurt I feel.

I write of all my failed relationships that I am kinda glad to be rid of. I buried them six, hell fifty, feet under and while I dug day and night my soft hands blistered and my soft soul tore and bled.
I grew callous and callouses formed on my skin. I looked hideous from all the hate so I tended to my scars and convinced them to wear flowers and wreaths hand woven. Sprout new life; new love.

I am accustomed to hurt and the sensation of insignificance but I was not built for this world where you are always stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I am soft, so soft, too soft.

The girl behind me

I’m no where near as breathtaking as the girl
sitting behind me
on this train to somewhere I thought I needed to go but it turns out I can’t get where I need to be by way of locomotive
the ascent is too steep and too treacherous
I’ve got to stumble all the way on my own two, petite feet
they’re burnt to the third degree from staggering through a pit of coal
blistered from the friction
and haemorrhaging from all the glass I’ve trodden on
but the pain doesn’t meet my gaze
for I look far too forward to bother with inanimate greetings, I have never been skilled with small talk
or eye contact
I look through the face of hurt and into the eyes of love

The girl who was sitting behind me is even more beautiful from these walking out the door angles
She’s got a dishonesty in the air around her
her very vibrations are shallow,  maybe thats why she looks so good
as I am boarding the platform sign posted:


You deserve entire grandiloquence

When I see you I see far more than your obvious and well flattered good looks
and maybe that is because you provoked me. Unintentionally, intentionally; I don’t care and it doesn’t matter. It’s beside the point because the needle sharp point is that you have my undivided attention at almost any time of the day.
I am always bending on strange angles to see you through new eyes but all directions give the same conclusion and I am ever fascinated. I want to see you candidly, notice how you hold a mug of coffee and how it is you make your bed to lie in. I want to see you from angles you cannot see yourself.
Those are the truly telling aspects.
You know, when you think no one is looking or can see?

But from where I stand I can see your lineage,
a gallimaufry of memories
Both marking your skin and burning a kaleidoscope of emotions into your eyes.
I can almost see each and every sunrise you have witnessed, I can almost see all the storms you have endured and ledges you have ever dared teeter upon.

Expression lines that go far beyond any simmering mien
a constant boiling point of now and then in that moment. You seem to implode while you are exploding. Even from this distance I can feel the warmth of your red embers on my skin followed by an icy chill, then another hot gust.
I liken you to a star sometimes, I guess this would be the beginning of your black hole. A black hole I am sure to get sucked into.

Redoubtably respectable and considerate. A modern gentleman, as honest as they come and it drives me wild.
Because I live for the truth of the situation; ours, theirs, why the ocean pulls to and from the coastline infinitely and indefinitely.

Your awareness is acutely tuned
the way you tentatively adjust the strings on your favourite guitar
to produce the most perfectly pitched composition. Everything about you is musical or poetic in some way. You even make “fuck” sound graceful, albeit with robust emphasis and assured gusto.

I see your smile and it is highly contagious, like some kind of airborne virus that infects me instantaneously.
I feel like a tatterdemalion creature
sapping the sunlight where it creeps from beside your silhouette
as you stand above and before me, for I feel as though I may belong in your shadow. Allow me life in a world deficient of vitamin D, let my skin grow paler and my pupils dilate so I may always contemplate your ever cheeky grin from down here.

I need to find the most accurate and extravagant sesquipedalian words
to outline even your outlines
Pull a red ballpoint pen from my handbag and jot down all these notes and phrases in your margins so I cannot forget. I do not think you quite understand that it is all the trivial, small things you dismiss that I want to scribble on my forearm. Let the greasy ink absorb into my skin and slowly fade away as the words penetrate my person.

Do you know one of the things I love most about you is your sincerest acknowledgment of all your flaws?
I admire so much the regard
of things most would choose to disregard, deny and even attempt to disprove. It’s almost heroic
—in this day and age, I mean. Of course you are no David to Goliath, no Hercules or Poseidon but you are inexpressibly courageous and virile. I have enough praise for your strengths, I have enough praise for your faults.

You are a wholly soi-disant gentleman
with no need for outside influence and no intention of absorbing any of it. They could throw you in a vat filled with everything that contradicts you. Yet you would evade the science behind osmosis. It would be as though you were covered in a protective film, a layer of determination and individuality.
You may pass through a cloud of damp, green mist and stride with your head held high out the other side without a single stain. This is where the rest of the crowd is seen emerging from the viridian curtain scrabbling on all fours, tinted top to toe and looking neolithic. Reaching for hands that are not reaching back.
But mine is reaching for yours though you are still standing tall on two, strong legs
and I would take your arm if you should ever offer.

Because falling illicits certainty

Sometimes I liken myself to an injured bird. My sights are set so high, with no boundaries or hesitations but my wings are broken. Instead of gliding to earth and waiting for the bones to mend I careen downward in a moment of terror.

It’s so sudden, like the rip you don’t expect to sweep you out to sea on the calmest of beaches. You blink and you’re already one hundred metres out and you sure as shit can’t swim against it. So out and out you go until the coast is a spec in the distance and you’re struggling to tread the water much longer. The swell is picking up and soon you are being thrown about by the oceans strong arms, the air is crushed from your lungs and all your bones are splintered.

I’m falling through the clouds, gravity is pulling me faster and faster, I’m twisting and though I am a dancer there is no grace here.
Until I land and my neck breaks. I leave a crater in the soil and my fingers twitch.

So, here I lay.
In all my pity and ugliness.
In all my quiet and volatility.

Here I lay.

It is this

I miss close quarters

Oxygen breathed back and forth between mouths

Secrets murmured into keen ears

Eyes locked across railway tracks and airports and theatres

Sharing moments sprawled out on grass in botanical gardens, all those sweet scented florals teasing your senses. Shoes off so you can feel the gentle tickle of nature on the soles of your feet; soles of your soul, the bottomless pools of your eyes.

Sharing the sky and finding bunnies bouncing around the clouds. Fingers intertwined, just laying there like two primary schoolers, laughing at nothing and everything.
The whole world is reborn each time you blink until you look into one another’s eyes and the universe is suddenly at a standstill. You see everyone in your peripherals freeze in place but you’re both moving, fingers detangling to hold cheeks in palms.

And the kiss….

oh, the kiss….

It’s volcanic plumes darkening the globe,
it’s shuttle breaking through the atmosphere,
it’s every drop of rain that has ever nourished the earth.

What about waking in pitch darkness and finding arms folded about your waist? You feel nothing but safety and warmth. An overwhelming sensation of calm.

And I miss all of these things
with intention of true, unconditional, romantic love
though I have not yet known it quite so.