when i caught the plane home
for the tenth time that year
watching melbourne
shrink beneath me
for the first time, i was really alone
i thought about her mouth
drunken, red wine
my red makeup on her eyes
our fingers, screaming with ink
matching in our masochism
our boys, like two small children
left stranded in a supermarket isle
i thought about his body,
where i vanished for a night
begging to be consumed
by something, anything
swallow me whole
and i thought about your face
frightened laughter
contort into confusion
at the power
i had snatched back at last
i looked at myself
chewed up and spat out
wedged between airplane businessmen
and i knew the dream was over
six months on
she tells me she’s not eating again
and that maybe she might leave him again
my heart skips a beat
i see you in the street
and suddenly i can’t breathe
and i remember that i was forgetting