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?
city slowness 