Gilly G

By | 7 October 2021

the night is young
because your hand is on my knee

resting surely as seventeen conversations

warble around us.

whose birthday is it anyway?

i’m busy falling in love
with this couple sitting across the table
waxing on about
Gilgamesh, clutching axe and nightshade



at the rim of the forest
meeting Enkidu.

and he’s good, Enkidu, but he dies
and Gilly G wanders the wasteland
baying for his ghost.

as i watch you listening
in your eyes we are them
but in mine Enkidu’s absence is only his.

when I look at you
I find it hard to remember


for me

we were ever


that we were in a place
where love rang out
and you could not get away from it

the back then unseaming the now, our bodies
leaching light in unravelled rows

the stars falling in dizzy waves
up and up
the lip of this world.

could it be i’m still waiting
for the banquet doors to open

could it be the burnished first look
at someone hot entering the room

that undoes it all.
and how the feeling now
escapes through the throat,
instead gathers all around me like weather.

in dreams I am a multitude of ghosts
whirring in concentric circles, passing
right through your chest like gamma rays

in attempts to kiss your ashen mouth.

it’s no use. jagged knife-lust
is replaced by a soft cavernous want
not a train slicing itself into the city
but a diaphanous ringtone filling the room.

i know now,
while your body is turning into tomorrow
i will remain a speck of dust.
i will remain containing
your offerings and songs

and in the quiet of the blue night
I leave the room, a tomb,
pass by your solemn body
resting there, unmoving limbs repeating
yesterday’s words as iridescence

knowing I will miss
the way you hold the light
on your skin so effortlessly.

hence I’m tramping down Parramatta Road
to seven eleven for a donut, for something sweet,
and I see lit by block light Gilgamesh, vape-smoke streaming
out of his mouth, dead and pink and alive.
he says without words (only the smell of blueberries)

“When you walk back up the street
the home you have just left will be cold,
thick with dust, the bed empty, the room barren.
You know this already, so?
Want a puff?”

I’m kissing him to pieces now
in the curve of a neon glow,
traffic light leaking onto the side of the road

my body lurching, ecstatic,
in the blinding brightness
of a sugar rush.

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