A small slice of Europe. Cafe Lorca Makes me crave huevos de gamba and strong black coffee Il Papiro whispering to me of Firenze and the old bridge across the Arno looking up towards Ponte alle Grazie Bookshops that laugh at me because I'm not in the Marais and throw...

A child gashes their foot on a sharp screw, unattended. Her mother complacent, absent. A man misinterprets a word here and next thing you know, furniture raised overhead, glass tinkles as it's smashed, drawers flung across a room leave gaping wounds in a chest  —...

And it turns out that's unforgivable Because I'm now writing lines to you in my head Lying in the dark in my bed It doesn't matter that I sent you other words Surreptitious in the social stream Oscar Wilde's hand soft on Walt Whitman's knee Let us be to each other...

I am writing lost love letters to ampersands, my favourite — with its curlicues in arcane typefaces, it peeks out at me from designer invitations & grungy restaurant names & I play seek. I invent reasons to unfurl my ampersands & sneak our way into...

AND here i am again sitting in a seat in the sky rocky, knocked against the seatbelt, thinking how peaceful and my three-and-a-half year old waiting at the gate, thinking not ready to go, not this time, as we glide down and i see your matchbox cars wending through...