by Regan Chern
It is the third time we’ll meet.
The ferry is at its approach, me aboard.
You wave from afar: a relief.
I wave back.
The old lady to my right
looks at you. Gasps.
I know she’s only
met you on the silver screen⎯
The tell in her wave.
Her shock solidifies ‘us’ for me,
because my suspenders are
lost in your house, and
my lips have kissed your glass.
This realisation stirs unease.
My shaky knees at our first meet as
we sat on opposite ends of your couch.
Either you should be here,
or I should be by you.
Though you were first,
I made the move.
You earned this ink
when you took my mouth.
Told me: Don’t worry, I’m just like you.
Then I got off
From the lofty gangway,
You see us on equal, solid ground.
You whisper: We can do anything once we’re in the car.
Do the credits roll now?
Author Bio:
Regan is in his final year of a BFA (Creative Writing) at QUT etc.… do you really need to know more than that? You could be reading my work instead, you know. It’s far better than any dry self-aggrandising drivel that I could’ve written for this bio.
If you’d like to contact me, email me at reganchern@gmail.com