To the strains of Dallas Crane,
we smoked and drank and talked;
I can’t recall our words at all
but you took my hand as we walked
up Bourke street looking for a way
to not ever end the night.
Then, in the humid, February heat,
we stopped and held each other tight;
it was the day after Valentines,
a day neither of us liked nor missed;
our love bloomed without fake festoons
but with the honesty of our first kiss.