1035

Something in the water
pulls you headfirst. In this place

there are moments. Tropical-
blooded, I always seem to fall in

in the summer.
That night was a citrus moon,

a whirlpool of humans. Lit by a lighthouse,
I laid my head on your shoulder, interlaced

fingers, smelt your neck
flanked by smokestacks and train lines. 1035

were the marks on my watch when I looked
towards you. You wore

that hat like a real captain, sailed through
kraken and seapunks and wrecks.

I don’t fare well
with endings so we walked up Hunter

and Darby and back—two nights
and a day, one crevice away

from peril. 1035 is the line
that divides us. My life defined by an axis—

amplitude drawn by dark dogs; hypomania
slingshot. Gotta straddle my sine graph,

baby, ride the blue
waves breaking. Grip the rails and dip

your feet. It’s important that you know this:
I can’t forget your scent, can’t quell glands

deploying dopamine. Unravel romance, wash it
off with seawater. Emerge headfirst

from this place, peel the salt from your skin
dried out in the sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Adolfo Aranjuez is the editor of Metro, the subeditor of Screen Education, a columnist for Right Now and a freelance writer/speaker. In 2015, he was selected as one of the Melbourne Writers Festival’s ‘30 Under 30’. Find him online at adolfoaranjuez.com and @adolfo_ae.

Image by Zoë Caley

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *