Oh

wood pigeon you deep throat

cry me to mate.

Neck ballooning with longing

you resonate

above these slates

this mist, that

diesel track to Weston.

The roof top between us

is hiding my presence.

Acting the beat box.

What have you in store for me?

What desires drive your calling

to chimneyed horizons?

How far do you fly

your bare twigs

to nest hopes on

this city bird table.

Prepare to entice me

To your perch

and if not me, then

Who, who, who?

Who, who, who?

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