Your brothers, tall and handsome, caught my attention and stole my breath. Rapt by their dominance over the skyline, I dreamed of being wrapped in their aggregate arms.
From the brow of Shirecliffe Top, looking down into Neepsend valley, remnants of industry - outlined in soot and sulphur, girder and rubble - gave way to your coy angulations. A shapely
anatomy echoing the serpentine Don, gently mocking its old-fashioned voluptuous meandering, dressed in the sci-fi future drag we were promised in 1940s pulp fiction.
Brothers impassive, I fell for you.