Leopold

In Nice, a town of fat tourists
and too many boat stripes, I
met a dental hygienist
with inky calves and a
love of drunk women.
He bought me a rose
and we touched in an alley
discussing his metal band
with messy lips.
Stumbling, surfeited, across
a social media profile
I noticed he now has
a plumpish toddler.

On waiting outside Randwick City Council dressed in head to toe streamers, ready to surprise the man who plans towns

There is nothing better than this.

Girls

They are the girls I like, you say. Girls with knee high socks and scuffs around their ankles, girls who wear patchy denim overalls with nothing underneath. They are the girls that own countless pairs of frilly panties, the girls who lick their lips and giggle when they orgasm. They are the girls always rendered in black and white. They are the girls with hardened nipples, girls with sleeveless tops that dip low enough to reveal their breasts. They are girls who want you to have them. They are the girls who are always ready. They are the girls with wet t-shirts and wooden floors,  girls who never argue, girls who don’t get mad. They are the girls I like, you say. Girls who chew bubblegum and let it pop loudly, girls with hard abs and feminine curves, girls who eat red meat, girls with legs for days. They are the girls with sandy butts at the beach, girls who don't peel or burn, girls who take pictures of other girls. They are the girls who wear white towels after showers, who order vodka with soda water, girls who have girls' nights.

Walking distance from Marrickville, Sydney to Long Beach, California

23 195 kilometres
4 578 hours

The 2:40 flight (or From the Desert to the Sea)

We took off. Once the small buildings beneath had dissipated, sparse as they were and quite unlike other capital cities, and once the strange town of Darwin was nothing but an orange speck, it was the clouds that took shape. First we saw them in tinges; more like trains of icy white mist than anything else, peeling past our great sardine tin as it whirled across the sky. Then we were above them, watching them billow below, great celestial beings forming a lilting sea of white.

I sat back in my seat and watched the world from the double paned window (plastic on my side, glass on the outer), and all the while the wing protruded sharply into my line of sight. The light danced around the bodies of cloud, changing its hue every minute with a flirtatious wink. First it was sky-blue, crisp and filled with promise. A little later, a wash of pink crept slyly over it, followed by bright oranges and purples, midnight shades; a mask of black.

Who was I in the sky, packed tightly against all these people? I decided I was no one. Just a stranger in my body, a soul removed from Earth. People millions of miles beneath were going on as usual; slipping tired bodies into thinning pyjamas, cooking dinner, having sex. The nightly rituals. I knew that this felt like no other flight – without distraction I waited and watched as life below, in all its sadness, was revealed to me. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go that night, but it wasn't back down. I needed more time in this half-way space.

There were grids of light on the descent, tiny pricks in every colour.  Thousands of them stretched out to the end of the horizon. The weird, newly-birthed continent below prepared itself for us. It was draped in some dazzling sheen, and Sydney twirled about, flashing its harbour like a twinkling Rolex.

The cabin crew prepared for landing. White lines drew themselves across tar roads. Small cars indicated and turned left. The runway was smooth when we hit it and I closed my eyes as the wheels rolled on. Before we had landed, I was preparing to leave.

The Velvet Weekend

Eating velvet with you

in a tired motel

where the velvet is the vessel

of quiet obsession

And the inlets carved across your cheeks

are also in my hands

my mouth, my belly

There are weekly rituals

we perform, moving

with practised steps toward some place

our wrists have brushed before

Erring on the sycophantic as we fill

the other's throat

with the shapes it needs

to be full, to know velvet.