You are gorgeous.
When you dream I dream.
When you dance I dance.
When you die I die.
I'm not ready to dance.
I'm not ready to dream.
All I can do is wait for you
to fall in love with me
over and over and over again.
Like the red hills of cooking pot bays,
like the islands resettled before we were born.
I'm asking for your favour in marriage,
and your flavours,
all of them,
colonial and cooling,
brenas and British,
easy and East Indian.
For your toil in the sun.
For your scales, glittering in the radiant dark.
For your tortoise-shell and sea cucumber,
for sandalwood and fire.
Out at last.
I swim when you swim.
I cry when you cry.
I am stars and moon when you are stars and moon.
I am enriched and broken, deathless like the tides.
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