Here

I’ve lived in the littoral
zones that puncture coasts
with sea air and sun. It’s always
golden—inchoate rain

torn away by tropic light.
I say It’s your turn now.
Harken the heart rate, rising
tides of tightness. Cross-

legged and clutch-nailed
you say I’m not sure
how we got here.
Fingers trace thigh,

dermal ley lines. Trails on
sand and soil stains lead me
back home. I imagine walking
in 3D—somehow I still follow

you. Hide behind high-def,
up the brightness, stark
contrast, vignette set, focal
point, rule of thirds. Picture

this: perfect envelopment
in binary. Coded femme, play
masc, masquerade as extrovert.
Skin I used to knead now

nothing. Left a jar of mustard,
mung beans and chia, your slacks

that smell of mothballs. You say
We’re just not meant to be

here. Cold turkey, singing
of love addiction. Life copies art
and aren’t those songs about
anxious-attached idiots

like me? Convenience pushed us
over. The borderline is my
everyday. I’m trying, really,
I’m trying to be better.

Desire paths never straight—
risk-taker, I’m gonna find
a way. I’m just moisture
from earth, just maplines

razed with each wave,
I’m just monsoons.

 

 

 

 

Adolfo Aranjuez is editor of film and media periodical Metro and editor-in-chief of sexuality and gender magazine Archer. He is also a freelance  writer, speaker and dancer. Adolfo’s nonfiction and poetry have appeared in Meanjin, Overland, Right Now, Cordite, Peril and elsewhere, and he has worked with and performed for various arts festivals and organisations. http://www.adolfoaranjuez.com

 

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