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Aotearoa: a romance
I hate these aggressively insular New Zealanders.
Robyn Hyde: Journalese
1
A kiss. And she
disappears
through the
kamahi.
I catch
her
as she fastens
her
bodice
with the
hand
that
stroked me.
I need to lick
nameless
wounds
from
knowing
flesh, ‘let
me
enter your dark….’
I count on
tomorrows—
they’re
numbered
with the buttons
of her
blouse.
She’ll
leave me
in the
dark.
2
An arabesque
cracks the ice. Revellers
scatter over Lake Ida. ‘Stay
if you love me’!
Her fingers glide over
my shoulders. But
that black water!
one kiss, I spin
out. Finally
it pleases her to come
in: ‘My hero!
Where’s your brother?’
3
You were wonderful
as the
novel
I could never be
the hero
of:
I watched another
fulfil that
role:
my ideal ghost, young
and well
endowed.
Whatever he thought
I said. But
now
you have mistaken
the words
they shape
for these lips. I shrug
off your
caress
like a beggar’s hand.
I’m a
shrill husk
the wind must play through.
I’ve
never loved.
Don’t trust the lyrics
I offer
up,
they’ll betray you too.
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