On Darlinghurst road
i had almost three quarters
of that cigarette down my throat

before i was struck with the most
overwhelming urge

To rip the music
out from under your nails.

All those riffs
that i thought were ours

(silence)

were yours only.

(sound)

picnics, fluorescent lights, the road.

(silence)

I though we felt
the same thing
that we felt it together.

I was mistaken.

I felt nothing.