Your birthday came early; shoots and leaves from the trees in the yard, fingers on the glass when we woke. Too drunk to fuck you watched with half-moon eyes sly from wine when I tried; the gentle thrum of cartoons through the wall a sad serenade. By late afternoon a storm churned outside, dark clouds burst; the moon a wink on the horizon. You cooked eggs while I slept the whistle from the kettle shrill when it came to the boil.
Every sound echoes, seconded by dry stone in reply. Voices crack like shoes saved for best, second skin blistering beneath first; kissing warm tarmac lips pursed with every step. Dogs chase their own tails. Coffee pours and drinks itself. Pretzels, stale as the day are thrown like rocks down throats and boats pass under the bridge like cotton through the eye of a needle.
I heard birds on my return; shrill bursts through the stringy silhouettes of trees branches twisting as new Spring leaves reached out in the dark of the early morning. My footsteps echoed on the pavement church bells and soft lights slipped and fell from windows of shops and flats while street lamps clicked off as I passed. Eyes closed. The sky hung low over the park that was sunk deep in the middle; a crater in the surface of the earth filled with grass and other living things the train tracks gone. We circled the rim like eagles heads bowed to the ground and your hair, blonde now and soft as goose down waved; fluffy in the moon breeze; your newly browned skin creasing like paper rubbed out by the wind.