My love for you was like a burn
Like when you fall asleep in the sun
And wake up red and sweaty
And your Mum has to put aloe vera on your back all night
All I wanted was for you to look at me
But all you ever did was walk by
To get another Tab from the fridge
or to make a Devon sandwich with tomato sauce
You never noticed my new Ken Done togs
Bought at Australia Fair
Just for you
You never saw me take my glasses off
Squinting in the sun
Instead you just went for a surf at Greenmount
without saying goodbye
It’s like when you fall asleep in the sun
And wake up red and sweaty
And your Mum has to put aloe vera on your back all night long
And your skin blisters and starts to smell
Like over-ripe banana
And when you peel it
It is pink and nubby like a vagina
But you never saw me get dumped by that wave of love
That wedgie of desire
All you ever wanted was your mum to drive you down the club
So you wouldn’t be late for your job
Cos you needed the cash to buy a Combie
But I burned for you… only for you
Like when you fall asleep in the sun
Underneath is pink and nubby like a vagina
But if you keep it in a jar the old skin curls and goes hard

Misty Dawn

Misty Dawn is tremulously approaching the brink of that momentous transformation when one declares oneself to be—A WRITER! After many years of passionate fellowship in a Christian community, she is so very grateful to have found new sister-wives in the FFA, led by her personal writing hero, Valkyrie Cul-de-sac. The inspiration for her writing comes from very private feelings that she would prefer not to discuss publicly. [She is also the alter-ego of Kathryn Kelly, dramaturg-at-large and theatre reviewer for RealTime Magazine ] Misty would also like to acknowledge her dramaturg, Conrad Hoorn. Conrad Hoorn was born at the wrong time. Had he debuted in 1899, he might have been Ernest Hemingway. Had his parents produced him in 1908, he might have become Ian Fleming. Instead, he appeared in 1949 and he’s Conrad Hoorn. A retired tycoon, he lives a humble existence these days on his yacht Viking Dawn, moored down the dreary end of Monaco harbor. He spends his mornings writing his memoirs, his lunchtimes drinking whisky in the Crystal Bar at the Hotel Hermitage, and his afternoons working on his latest espionage novel, written under the non de plume ‘Conradt Horne’. His evenings are his own business. Aside from his controversial tycoon life, he is a former occult mountaineer, luge commentator, and America’s Cup skipper. These days he offers advisory sessions to budding writers over Skype for a fee. He is not married and has eleven children. [He is also the alter-ego of this fellow: Ben Pullar is a writer living in Brisbane. He has had stories published in Jersey Devil Press, The Journal of Experimental Fiction, Metazen, and other places. He writes stories and songs, and has nearly finished his first novel.]

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