in the black bowels of the underground

He lived in a brown brick apartment block on Burton St

In the centre of balmy, seedy Darlinghurst

Brown was the colour of the building

The colour of these emotions,

Sydney at the time, from Museum Station

To the glorious, miserable old buildings,

Lovingly unkempt and dilapidated

Strewn about the city giving it heart, character

and soul amongst the glamorous skyscrapers

To the gritty dark grey of the bitumen on the streets

And the yellow sandstone wall across his street,

These were the colours of love

In our beautiful little world,

Brown and grey and mustard inside his flat

His pants, long ponytail tied back, the carpet,

His near constant bong smoke,

Depressed but euphoric wrapped into one nervous

ball of insecurity and enthrallment

Buoyed by the joy and optimism of the handsome green gums out on the streets

Dotted around the streets, hanging in clumps,

Breathing assurance, timeless and natural,

Creeping vines sprawled luxuriantly along the

back and sides of mission brown brick,

Oozing sensuality as if to echo and invoke the act of passion

For a love that ended up in the blindness of those black bowels of the underground rail tunnels,

Directionless and lost but that would last a lifetime

Remembered in the love of those green gum leaves

And warm, fragrant summer's night air