My first visit to Bali was with him,
the man I met years before,
living different lives.
Weeks after our first date at Spring Moon,
the night I stayed and never left,
we ate and drank champagne
on a Cathay flight out of Hong Kong.
The cutlery ice cold like the butter on my plate.
By the time we got to Bali,
I had moved my furniture and belongings into his flat,
left half empty after his first marriage,
shown him to my relos in Hong Kong during Chinese New Year,
hidden him in a hotel room in Canberra,
less than a year after my first wedding.