elainehsiang
Aluminum and dripping wet casacos line these eyelids. Are you okay? Are you alright? It's a rainy day but you haven't lost the potential to become human. Like me. This is so cruel, separating curtains to drizzle and honey. I haven't caught any in this cup of tea (you can stammer again how many it takes to dilute three beers). I am seizing, choking on your jacket clang at least my tongue is safe.
Don't wait for my lips to chap to kiss me; I've written a song about the little hairs above your lip, because I have them too and for three whole minutes I can fit your smiles vibrating behind my ear,
boxes, and boxes of butter churned and ready to be spread over sticky mouths. Beije-me pela doçura
Dear time, you are a little more powerful than I had imagined, when secondhand clockwork leaves not even smoke. Tell me again, how listless you are waiting for worlds to collide, time zones and all I have to do is stick pencil, paper and cut. Show me once more, what it means to see stars in your skies and skies in her eyes. And teach me to scorn, that in two different places time stands too still to disturb the dust. I never understood the point of daylight.
Maybe I'm just not good enough for her.
She had such rainy windows she couldn't see past. Who knows what the weather was like today, with these streaks and blurs? And they just kept moving. She wanted to wear tights today. Everybody used to say "wow, look at those muffin tops!" yet she felt skinny-wheat-skinny in the shower, with clear streaks and blurs running down her skinny thighs and no, it isn't raining at all.
I think my city is so beautiful. To sit on wooden benches and build bamboo bridges upon my back, to look upwards and wonder how tangible colors are, blue, blue, like venous fringes lining cloudskin and I wonder if this is all mine. If I had to leave, could I fold this city into my trunk? Could I fold you? I miss you too, boo.
How do I tell you this? I’m leaving me. I’m always trying too hard to not try hard enough and if you really wanted to be honest you’d let the word “callow” drop off your tongue. And I don’t know if we have an epileptic love, I really really don’t but I’m going deaf in one ear so I hear bits of you. This/never/coffee/fixed/melodramatic/you are/barely/coffee? To hear you in stereo. To feel your words hot and humid on my earlobes and tease out the waxy criticism you pour in rainy nights. Drip. You never pull the espresso at the right times anymore. They’re always too sweet and I wish we could be new again.