SPILL/AGE #2 Confession

Artwork by Mossy

My words drip out

as sweat ronde de jambes ’round

your nipple. We touched skin

with eyes open—fucking

fermata. Shed clean sheets

stained semen.

 

At dawn you left

with sun-haloed hair.

You never went home

to me, always elsewhere.

 

He says I should know better but

your breath is morphine. Don’t leave

without your lies, tell me

you like when things don’t change.

 

Your chest is still

what I dream of in sleep

and in waking. No chamber is sound-

proof, no penance is safe

when he’s listening and you’re not

here.
 
 

Adolfo Aranjuez
Adolfo Aranjuez 1 Article
Adolfo Aranjuez is editor of Metro, subeditor of Screen Education, and a freelance writer, speaker and dancer. He has edited for Voiceworks and Melbourne Books, and been published in Right Now, The Lifted Brow, Eureka Street and Peril, among others. He is one of the Melbourne Writers Festival’s 30 Under 30. www.adolfoaranjuez.com