We will sit face to face
across the thick jarrah table
in the beer garden down the road
from the graveyard of the clear felled forest
Perhaps it will start awkwardly
you will notice the small scar on my forehead
ask how it came to be there
I will tell you
and we will laugh at my stupidity.
or I will notice that the eyes
you told me were hazel
are actually grey
and you might say
it depends on the light, they tell me…
and after a pause (during which I will swizzle
the ice in my soda water with my straw)
the conversation will weave towards
its intent like a drunk
you might start like this:
‘They say that Wesfarmers have made a bid on Coles.’
to which I will press my lips together
and raise my eyebrows in feigned interest,
not caring if either company spontaneously combusts
or falls off the coast into the Indian Ocean
Instead I will imagine my tongue
in the hollow of your neck where your pendant hangs
I will wonder how many vulnerabilities I can hide
inside the warmth of your mouth against mine
You will lean across the table and turn your temple
to hear me better over the din of the crowd.
Our elbows will touch, and I will seal the
crooked half smile on my lips with a sparkle of my eye.
Your eyes will narrow (conspiratorially), and then we will leave.
I will be thinking in the back of my mind
of waking into the silence of an empty house
distilling my inadequacies in sleepy laboratories
Lighting Bunsen burners under the cracked vials
of my serenity. I know your hips ground on mine
against the hallway wall is temporary reprieve.
A moment I am not required to be responsible
for the courageous drawing of lines on sandy shores.
On waking you will wind a lazy arm around my waist
and accuse me in whispered tones
of emotional absence. I will lay there wisely
listening to the taxi roll down the street
taking me away from here.