I caught you
leaving my bedroom.
I thought you
whispered a withdrawal
sounding
something like
‘I love you In Bloom’:
as if it were my full name
being
stolen.
I smell you
in silhouettes going cold
below
my pillow: inhale two three
HOLD
Everest-
fresh.
I try to guess
what it is: your scent,
it is a happy accident
breathing crisp
equipment
and
I caught you
leaving:
‘Boy-bird’
you said
in that A-team accent –
‘remake it real.’
And I believe in every word.
Because you steel my name
and say it
without knowing
why
you make me
feel
no
shame.
HIPPOCAMPUS FAMINE 
ahh…i loved it!
I love all your work, Arron, that which I understand and relate to, and that which baffles intrigues tortures and entices me–this is in the former category, a glorious intimate love poem which I will not profane with idle words, except to say, this is the kind of song that should make any woman die happy to hear come whispering out of the darkness at her. And the rhyme…*swoons in a discrete and tasteful way*