1:25 am

it is not your fault,
Shining One.
I am sorry they shut you out.
I am thankful for your heart,
like a door ajar.
You are worthy of
quick,
persistent,
urgent,
hello’s.
You are not an afterthought,
a late night phone call;
you are my first thought
in every sense.

THE 2ND TIME

The stench of sweaty pits,
my stained black shirt in exchange
for spoilt grey sheets.
Liquid feelings,
I left unsatisfied,
a little bewildered, and
a little inspired by brief flashes
of pleasure –
born of your ardent devotion
to the impossible challenge.
Tit for tat,
make up for the first time
when I wanted it to stop and he didn’t.
Your perfect teeth remind of the first
set that grazed my nipples.
You are a do-over of a night
of unresolved tensions,
uncannily familiar, unspooling.
My body refused what my heart confuses:
an entangled love with thrashing legs,
it knew, it knew.
I could’ve taken the couch instead
but I wanted you to ask me to [stay]
come to bed.

WINTER ORANGES

Mother’s fingers are stained
with orange peels.
She stands by the kitchen
and offers me orbs;
she wants me to live
a hundred years more.

Mirrors are painful,
my face is too round.
In harsh winter,
cheeks blossom
and soften into hers,
whose face I love.

I carry her as she carried me
inside her belly,
a little orange tree.
For as many years I’ll live,
I will brave through the winter
a quiet reminder
that I am
my mother’s daughter.

CANTABILE

mincing your thoughts and
garlic for mushrooms,
whistling in the evenings
some Schubertian tune,
there is no one that sounds
quite like you.

keys jangling,
one hand steering,
always carrying,
listening. listening.
the other hand holding
until we make it past
the chaotic street crossing.

your steps,
affretando
a little hard to follow.
in the evenings,
animando
breaking bread with aceto.

resting, eyes closed,
in the thick of strings,
maestoso
I wonder where you go
when the music begins.

in a thousand tongues
I tell you,
gracioso
I love you
Te Amo
我愛你
Je t’aime,
cantabile