He left for the mountains in the Victorian countryside. A train and two hours brought him back to me. When you pine for someone or something, time willingly stretches itself to fill the cavity of absence. It is one of those things you possess, but do not always have. It is carved by companionship, by affection, and appears only when you are apart from something dear to you.
He was gone for four days.
In that time, I became a kind of fading daylight. A waning moon. I walked around to the back of the house and slipped the key into the lock. My hand on the doorknob to my room; the creak of its aging and there he was again, in my presence. We held each other for a little while, there in the center of my room. He rolled a joint for us and like rag dolls we lay half-entwined on my bed. Dreamy, white haze filled the space. We questioned our hunger and decided to take a walk to the cheap Vietnamese restaurant I had discovered. We carried the bags of take-away down Sydney Road. Our wrinkled palms, the sound of his voice after mine in the cold air. I smiled. The menu he gave me to keep was folded in my back pocket. On the wooden floor of my room we sat cross-legged, shoving our mouths with plastic forks and spoons. Coriander and red chili. Rice noodles. Bright orange julienned carrots. Little slivers of mushrooms. The door was left ajar.
“Should we shut the door?” I glanced at him, feeling my lust rise like heat.
“I don’t know. Should we?” He grinned with eyes of desire.
I stood up and pushed it shut. How eager he was. With my foot, I slid the containers of half-eaten food away from his mattress. I fell upon him with my lips and my tongue. His shoulders embraced me, the muscles contracting, harder it became. We had already undressed each other with our eyes and now, with our fingers. I had not even stripped bare and he was ready to consume me. He positioned my legs above his waist and pulled my body downward, now caught in his gravity.
I sigh and sigh, like blissful flames.
Our bellies were full. Our hunger,
satisfied.
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