Anna,
I was passing by the table in the lounge
when I caught the scent of lemon
and you know,
it took me straight to your sister's lounge
at 3am some day in May 2009
just beside the bubbling aquarium.

So this is the smell of the lounge of a mad Canadian's sister.
So this is how it feels to shift continents and worlds.
So this is the energy of longing finding longing.
So this is what it is to be here.

Anna,
I don't know why I keep opening to you.
No, sure I do.
Everything with you was scent and sound,
sand and sea,
Africa and Asia,
misery and pleasure.
I didn't know it then,
when we walked the walls of Quebec
drank the tea of your weeping mother
smoked the cigarettes of the Montreal hotel
fucked like champions in the Toronto suburbs
crossed the oceans of a thousand islands
crushed the coral of our favourite haven
broke the skin of our sacred honour
laughed it up in the UN nightclub
gathered fruit from the cockney market
despised each other in the cum stained sheets
met each other in a bombed out cafe
loved each other in a bombed out cafe
created each other in a bombed out cafe
that we were smearing everything with the tastes and scents and colours
of our separated future.

So now, I can't find any thrill of worth
that does not say -
this reminds you of the first,
with Anna...

Now at times like this,
when smelling lemon,
I am sorely tempted to accept you
to open wide the door that I've kept closed.
But only tempted, Anna -
because even we cannot recover
the impossible tastes and scents and colours
we somehow contrived
in our fantastical, miserable, unbeatable
and frankly, unlivable 
sensuous years as lovers.