some poems here

Miles Away
My body remembers you as you were.
The tickling warmth of your breath
dancing over valleys of collarbones. 
Rough hands pursue endlessly
losing their way over and over again 
Left to right, up and down, sea from sky

But when I opened my eyes, we is just I and me alone
and you, long ago, disappeared amidst careless sheets
smoke from a flickering candle. 
I watched the flame die out. I’m exhausted too.

After all the longest distance is when
I stand in front of you and you don’t see me. 

Former Lover 
How do you be friends with your former lover

Because in between the words there is a lot unspoken
about him begging for a persistence in grace 
and you
unresolved in an infinite ache. 

There is nothing left to be said 
in the revelation of day
because we know what is true
is hidden, but unforgotten
under the covers of the night

His fingers have left dents on your skin
the salt of his breath still lingers
you cannot be friends with your former lover 

Take My Body
Come and rest in gentle arms
weariness tear from aching bones 
shed the stubborn mask of false charm 
and seek solace where we're not alone
there is comfort in knowing two are the same
so be free from thoughts of reservation 
in this moment we are but delicately tame
we are without doubts or hesitation
Come and leave this place behind
and find shelter in our makeshift cavern
though savage, our touches kind 
you are made vulnerable at every turn

We are wild animals seeking for somebody
so here, take my body. Take my body.

Yau Ma Tei (1962)
In this place I am alone but I am never lonely
I can feel you moving about the room next door. 
My cheongsam  constricts against my 
pounding chest whenever I think of you.
I wonder if you are thinking of me too.

Down the cramped corridor and the narrow stairwell
we brush against each other. This place holds all my thoughts
there is only enough space for the two of us
We are close enough to touch. Almost. 
I hold my breath.
I take the route by the seaside harbour. You cut through the streets.
but we always end up at the same cha chaan teng  anyway. 
Sitting opposite each other but on different tables
we eat in silence. I am warmed by my nai cha  and 
your quiet presence. That is more than enough for now. 
But I do think of the great perhaps
In another time, in another place
when I was still the Su Li-Zhen that belonged to no one
and not the tortoise passing a sill 
I could choose to belong to you. Perhaps. 
And yet in the stillness of night I close my eyes
and listen to you breathe. I whisper
for you to ask me to be yours
into a small hollow in the wall
and cover it with my palm. 

There are never second chances in a single moment. 
Our end is our beginning. 


I’m thinking you and I
ride to a place we don't know 
spend ten days pulling smoke 
slow sex at fast decay 
lurk on highways 
with the hounds of hell
I’m thinking you and I 
drive down to Paradise 
palm trees, dried grass and grit
constitutes what's infinite
no more bold faced lies 
in the violence of midnight 
imminent demise
goodbye, goodnight
they say people there give up their souls
how else will you feel whole?
go fast ; don't go slow 

a goddamn shame

It is the rolling smog of sulfuric fumes that burns your throat and suffocates your lungs. It is the pain in your chest that beats down on you when you gasp for breath. That is what this love for you feels like. You have taken away my way of words and all I am left with is the deafening silence in your absence. The sound of my name is not safe in your mouth. I'm screaming for you to give it back but you do not hear me. No one does, really. And that's a goddamn shame.

You cannot romanticize sadness, hurt, or loneliness.
In the land of Gods and monsters, people cut themselves while dreaming. You don't have a say in how you get hurt, but you do choose who gets to hurt you. Ink smudges, hearts break, innocence gets lost. It is impossible to let something go and let it go whole; I am the living proof of that. Here I am, stuck at the crossroads, stranded in between somewhere and nowhere. Lost in echoes of another time and place, I cling on to what is familiar: Your rough hands. The way you laugh. What you were wearing when you said I was not the one.
People come and go and as much as you want to, there's nothing you can do about it. You were my future tense, but you have made me your past. Yet here I am and I love you (present tense). I would have chosen you a thousand times over and you would have broken my heart all the same. I would still give it to you anyway.
Heartbreak is strangely intoxicating. It's amazing how the hurt amasses and becomes so much you can only feel numbness, as if nothing else can touch you. Tell me, am I broken or am I invincible? All I do know is that I wield a terrible kind of freedom and yet, here I am watching you walk away.

And that's a goddamn shame. 

I don't know what to do with this life
I don't know what to do with my hands
I don't know what to do with myself
I don't know what to do with my hair

I can't figure out who I am
I can't figure out my sexuality
I can't figure out my body type
I can't figure out what I want for Christmas

why doesn't he love me
why doesn't aluminum react with water
why doesn't the moon rotate
why doesn't batman kill

how come I can't sleep
how come I can't download apps
how come I don't dream
how come I can't get high

what if this is all a dream
what if this is all there is
what if this is all just a dream
what if this is all a simulation

when will I ever learn
when will I ovulate
when will I die
when will I be loved

Capital City

Five hundred and twenty two 
lives per second is the average speed
the stream of endless anonymous
faces race-walking with garbled voices 
passes by communal pools of sidewalk
spittle. The same speed at which one
becomes a fleeting spray of human 
being and then hastily become nothing
more than bones and pigment after being
trampled by the herd that hurriedly goes
forth towards worshipping their new 
progressive idol with steel towers built on
the foundation of your still lukewarm body
that is finally 
at rest.  

Farewell, Heloise
                From your dear Abelard
I have always a perchance for beautiful but sad things
but never towards you
my beloved Heloise
for you blossom under the genteel touch of kindness
and I cannot fully bear the weight of your tears

if your soul is granted flight towards Heaven
I can conceive nothing more than
the choice of Death; I stand trial
for the dark descent into
the abyss of the damned.
You are my blessedness
just as much as I am
sensible of my own distress
Follow Magdalen and be guided
towards the path of salvation
look no further than this final letter
my Heloise, for this will be the last of your

[1] "blessedness" alludes to dante's  la vita nuova Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra: Now your blessedness appears.
[2] "sensible of my own distress" alludes to hamlet's Act 4 Scene 7 where gertrude comments on ophelia as "one incapable of her own distress"
[3] "Magdalen" refers to mary magdalene, a follower of Jesus, who wept thinking that Jesus had forsaken her

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