If you could quote Tex Perkins, Gillian Welch and Lester Bangs. If you could recite the entire lyrics to 'Isis'. If you read Doctor Gonzo's letters. If you got the desert in your toenails and hid the speed inside your shoes. If you had wet hair, black trousers and smooth, bare heels. If you cooked linguine with saffron and cream and fresh crab and diced sea bass and barely sauteed scallops. If you ate New York Strip steak, that had been brutally char-grilled just past rare.
If you danced for me and let me sing for you. If you sat, stayed and cheered for a fourth quarter comeback. If you had seen Melbourne in the rain, Nafplio in the chill and Prague in the snow – and you still wanted more. If you have dug a hole in the sand, filled it with hunks of dried Red Gum wood and lit a searing, midnight bonfire, that made nearly as much noise as the crashing surf in the distance. If country music had saved your life.
If you thought the coastal parts of England were far better than anything the center had to offer. If Italy was necessary and Belgium was not and the entire three weeks of the Tour De France in a private helicopter, with dinner in a different town each night, is an inevitable fantasy. If you felt that the works of Lautner, Schindler and Neutra were every bit as exciting, sensual and transportive as those of Modigliani, Lautrec and Still. If you used your arms and your legs and knew it wouldn't ruin you. If traveled by train. If you waited at train stations. If you believed in a freight train. And if you'd had your own Train In Vain.
If you found only that which finds you. If you know that The Blues ain't a phase or a style or a T-shirt. If your breath is like dew on the vine. If you help me wake up less tired than before I slept. If the mountains are green and dense and roll along a fresh, clear rainwater creek that overflows every year, just in time for naked cooling plunges during the longest and hottest days of summer. If your smile can stop me and your eyes can read me, but your lips only kiss me. If your hotel room is all white linen and white carpet and has a spiral, pine staircase leading up to a spa and sauna, that looks out a glass wall and out onto a wide scape of the city's reflecting buildings, circling helicopters, flashing police lights and a dark, wide and foreboding river.
If you drove, whilst I navigated with the GPS. If you fell asleep on my shoulder on the plane. If your Art was yours alone and you shared it with me. If you were proud of that which was uniquely yours and still admitted to that which wasn't. If the taking of care to radiate the most out of your beauty did not conscript away half the day. If you believed in me, as much as I believed in you. If you stood out on the balcony, with both of your tanned, lean arms and hands wrapped tight around the bannister and your head and shoulders tilted back as the stiff, cold morning breeze blew in off the ocean and left your hair flying and fluttering like a proud, soft, auburn and brunette flag. If the music was always loud, except when it was soft.
If I gave you my heart and you did not instead want my soul. If we headed down south to the land of the pines. If your adventure was as easy as your laugh. If The Road was as easy the stories you tell. If The Highway back to you was the exact winding ribbon of gold I had dreamed of. If you took me to see a band I'd never heard of and we stomped our feet all night and were the last to leave. If the questions were never longer than the answers and if the answers were always to the right questions. If your 'Goodbye' was delivered with same tenderness as your 'Hello'.
If I woke up to your eyes. And they were brown. Or they were blue. Or hazel. Or a greenish grey, with hints of pink, or whatever - just so long as they were as soft as your accent or your anger or the skin at the point where you neck becomes shoulder or the cotton you use to clean your face before bed.
If you were so much older then, but younger than that now. If I found a single strand of your hair on the arm of my black jacket at work and as I picked it off, I remembered the first time ever I saw you and your short, blonde, textured bob. If we spent a whole weekend working our way through a back-to-back, private festival of Sergio Leone films and hummed along to Morricone's music. If you knew how to make breakfast as good as anywhere in St. Kilda and your eggs made me swear I could almost hear the trams clattering down Carlisle Street. If you lay on the pillow besides me and tried to take an interest in the cricket. If you caught me in my prime and stayed with me.
If you had ridden both the Australian and the Californian Pacific Coast Highways and knew what music sounded better on each one. If you asked me to take you down The Great Ocean Road, so you could experience another one of the great coastal roads of the world. If you knew what a B Major Seventh sounded like on a hand made, acoustic guitar. If you let me like you from the beginning. If you always answered the phone.
If the sight of your naked back, whilst you lay across the bed reading your photography magazine, made me simply need to make love to you. If missing your smell could drive me to the very edges of frustrated distraction and desperation, on even the shortest days of not being together with you. If we held hands in front of Rothko's in more museums than we could count. If you had known of Ruscha before me and I had known of Brack before you. If you wore more black. If I wanna squeeze you, but I’m scared to death I’d break your back.
If we'd put a new coat of paint, on this lonesome old town. If, whilst standing back and watching you charm my friends at a barbeque, I found myself feeling jealous of myself. If you brought me cake when I was sick, sushi when I was lonely and let me bring you French sparkling cider when you won. If you walked slow though the rain and waited patiently in the frost. If you had crossed the bridge over the East River in autumn and jogged through the Botanical Gardens in spring. If you let me take you in the afternoon and rolled over for more in the morning. If you just looked and I just knew.
If you wanted to do right, but not right now. If melting my heart was as easy for you as ice in the sun. If you know we all get to heaven in our own sweet time. If you can please break me gently. If you used to care, but things have changed. If I never saw the moonlight till it shone off your breast. If just one drink from your loving cup and I fall down drunk. If it's after midnight and your lamp is burning low. If you are are beauty walking that razor's edge. If you gave me shelter from the storm. If you are someone to talk to and a new hiding place.
And if honesty was never something you had to 'try' at. And, if faced with fear, you told the truth at least eight out of ten times and always apologised after the two times you did not.
If you did that - if that was you - I’d definitely ask for your phone number and a drink and some time.
For sure.
Just in case.....
Just in case, I spent the rest of my life with you.
