I note the sharpness of coral
pigeon feet on the dark rain
saturated tarmac.
I catalogue futility and hope;
my chin dripping, hands fuzzy
against olive green.
you: a cat’s toe beans.
the fullness of the city is rich
like ground oil pigments.
second-hand clothes squeeze
out from the faded histories
of past owners,
and into mine.
you hold me in Chinatown
among stiff deathless plants
and thick rain. you reify
lightness: a dolphin, smooth
and skimming.
my wrist: the foamy current.
you love me. you buy a book
on Sappho. you remember
being zipped up on another
dark tarmac night,
wind splashing
up the sides of the tower,
a pummelled cliff face.
your cheek.
you say: you’re easy to love.
I cry at menus and long queues
and in your neck
like an exorcism.
I am interested in celebrating my daily interactions, and documenting moments of everyday beauty.
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