When i think of that island

i think of that night

i think of us

four ink splats

dancing on the sandy canvas

spreading out in our own

hypnotic state


we weren’t allowed in the water

not that we listened

the fear of sharks couldn’t stop us

shedding our clothes

our inhibitions

for one small moment


in its deep blue palm


everyone else was at

the camp

better known as

the home we’ll never forget

with its long wooden tables

and burnt out fire

not forgetting the toilets

you didn’t dare enter


it was a funny group

i guess

looking back, i mean


we two, forever connected

and the boys

we’d barely shared a word


but there we were


the guitar was our soundtrack

(there was always a guitar)

lit up by

the firefly

sitting on the end

of your cigarette


(sure, cigarette she said)


we sung

from the depths of our heart

so full

that the words

spilled over the edge

tip toeing away

right over to the



and i’ve seen your flag on the marble arch

and love is not a victory march

it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah


and then the second

we all looked up

in unison

it seemed

ready for our own private show


because the stars

had come out to play

the milky way

easing in and out

of the sky’s gentle clutch

her curves

her lines

her beauty


ours for the taking


her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you


the clearness

the overwhelming sense

that we were witnessing

something out of this world

a glimpse

ours for eternity


and every breath we drew was hallelujah


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