look for me under the ibis wing of street lamps
in each cul-de-sac search for the handprints
we pressed in footpaths

i have a pouch full of secrets
come taste your words again

for too long i have lugged your many tongues
my fingers fret at them
the little brown shapes
edges curled
leather-dry
bloodless
withered gobbets in a pouch at my hip

you’ve spent a lifetime at the Bowling Club
in Keno limbo
bewildered among the slots

waiting for a nod to trawl the pleats these streets
cut in our hills
sift through the tidy fortunes built over wildness

i come with tongues in a pouch
desire’s mist hard in my hair
meaty husks in my mouth

chew these tongues again
leathery secrets bleed soured fruits
the words we shared fill my mouth
voices in our blood again

kneel and work your fingers into the dry concrete
the taste in my mouth is the colour we’ll leave
the tart spray of words across your blank hand