Ryan and Indie – the early days
in three parts…
1.) Front Row Seat
The gods are playwrights, and we,
the unrehearsed players…
Why else that front row seat
that set me
in thrumming acquiescence
at your side.
2.) Old mine/late evening
A slow tick tick as the motor cools to silence
masks the crunch of footfalls on this lonely gravel road.
Parked beneath the girders I wait,
speculation confined to ‘what comes next’.
No thought for what had been before.
Despite my anxious watchfulness, the scrape of an opening door,
the creak of leather settling into place,
clutches my stomach, sets my chest to hard/fast patter.
Birdsong chatter of no consequence fills my mouth
Seeks to clothe strangeness in everyday…
Its taken many years to appreciate
of the looming steely beauty
of this mine, dusted now with light,
A half forgotten landmark, a late night relic
in my geography
of remembered relationship.
3.) Stone Slab
We walk. Single file, through midday trees.
Isolate. Intimacy-awkward on this narrow track. In filtered light and urgent heat.
Not yet ready for holding hands…
Busily, we splay a blanket
across the raft of slate
which punctuates this scrubby ridge.
A rough bed of hot stone, encircled by twiggy wattle,
free of nesting ants…
I slide my arms around your waist.
Suck in the fullness of your mouth,
savor the smoothness of your belly;
breaking free to strip.
While I warn of scars,
your focus lies elsewhere.
You want to feel what it feels like…
And I, stricken by your cock,
want to feel you.
So we manage, not once but twice
To startle the birds with the oddness of our own sound.
On the way back, we walk awkwardly,
side by side,
pausing to kiss,
wanting to touch,
clutching each others hands…