Loss was found

You would have thought with something missing,

things would feel lighter.

I mean, yes, I lost weight,

But I had more on my mind.

You would never have seen me leaving my house

without my headphones on.

Because I knew only music could drown out 

the wind whispering your name. 

And I didn’t want to hear it.

In every 'how have you been?' and 'how is everything going?',

I experimented with how far I could stretch my answer from reality.

I didn’t want to say my time was being taken up attending

the same funeral of us, a hundred times a day.

That I was and still was the only visitor.

I kept people at a distance, 

I didn’t want anyone too close.

Because I didn’t want people to catch

the smell of death from my clothes.

There were two of us but only one was mourning.

Each morning, I awoke in a cemetery,

trying to bury all of the 'what ifs' under the surface.

But every tear I shed watered the dead.

into full bloom and more grief resurfaced. 

So I tried sowing new seeds. I really did.

Wishing for a new garden to grow.

I would stand there weeping into my watering can.

But I realised my watering can can’t

grow miracles, though.

I thought I could gain muscle trying to bench my thoughts.

But the only thing I strengthened was my muscle memory.

I could lift ten extra kilograms at the gym much easier. 

Because nothing was heavier than my thoughts.

To lighten my load I was told to focus on myself so

I would race laps in the park every day by myself.

And I would still come second.

I was doing everything I could,

But I could never outrun my grief.

And it brought me no relief to see

The seesaw we used to play on and so perfectly balance.

I should have known you were leaving forever

because your absence nailed my side so far into the ground.

I was so low I could only look upwards.

You were so high, you didn’t look down.

Or once, when you did, you couldn’t hide your smile from the sky. 

I didn’t need to be reminded that you were doing better without me.

So I unsynced our pictures from the cloud.

But it still rained and it poured.

I stopped using umbrellas because

the rain followed me closer

than my own shadow did.

So I unfollowed joy and love on social media. 

I would scroll past happiness and delight.

I would double tap on sorrow

I would refresh but be stuck on

the same loading screen every night.

And I’m silly in that I would fall asleep

watching it load only to wake up to

“page still not found”.

You would think with something missing,

things would feel lighter.

I mean, yes, I lost weight.

But I had more on my mind.

by Kavita K. Hansla

Watch Kavita’s reading here.

If/Make It With You

i replay the record till it scratches and skips, 
i keep repeating the same old verses even when
they start to stink; it is good enough that the smell
is there to remind me of you, and every inch of
your stupidity that once endeared you to me, 
somehow i do not have it anymore and i can 
only find it in shallow lyrics where i pretend there
is a better story than this, some sort of alternative, but
i just know i would have made all the same mistakes 
only to swear by my innocence—if i bleed white
then so be it, it is proof only to me and no one else; 
if i bleed red, then let yourself be marooned by me, 
when i know i could launch more than a thousand ships. 

track 1: accidentally in love - counting crows
i secretly grew tired of this song, and now i resent it 
even more, even more now that it only reminds me of 
you—it uses the word “love” every other verse and no 
longer do i want to associate you with that grotesque 
word, no longer do i want to know what you do or who
you’re with, but freedom is cruel now that i have it, 
and so were you when i had you, i do not want for any
more in this world, i take everything i own for granted. 

track 2: kiss me - sixpence none the richer
it is better, a source of relief even, that this is one track
that does not bring back the thought of you, i think of
autumns i have never visited, and leaves that do not fall, 
i am alone and none the lonelier, but i have friends that
i dial up for days and nights and answer to every call; 
there is too much love that once i had for you, that now
is just all up for fifty per cent off, i let your love go; it 
wasn’t my call to make but i do not ask for any payback.

by Leya Kuan

The Fall of 2024

Today I tried to write again, but my mind is empty and 
So are my hands; I have spent them all away, on 
Blouses just to prove that I lost a couple of pounds,
And bits of some things to show myself that I have more
Than a couple of pounds—my mind is far, far away, and
Yet—but—so—and—half of me has been here to bear
Witness, to bare what is left of me before it all chips 
Away, a way to remember the words I have used only to
Pour the ink all over the curves and blur it all back 
Together, but at least this is what remains, and what is 
Left of me, the last bit of common sense that I will 
Never use, from the beginning to the present end. 

I am still young, I tell myself, and there is still so much 
Time left in the world, all of it, time enough for only
you and I, in the lateness of the morning and the early
Beginnings at the end of the year, but every candidate For my affections brings this old feeling that only you
Bore, by land or by sea, whatever it is, there is still 
Distance by heart or by proximity, so I keep ringing up 
The couriers and reminding them of my free shipping, 
I keep calling you up so you know that I am living, who
Cares to live if it is not for your love? Spill that apathy 
From my lips to your faithless country, spit that venom
From your faith to my fate, let it go every time we touch. 

Today I remind myself that I am a writer so I must write 
But I have given all my words away to the garden of 
False fairies and godless gnomes, I claim it’s charity but
I truly only need a facade of generosity for my vanity, 
I let myself believe that I have kindness in my heart, so
I may put myself to sleep in the belief of my purity, 
You have robbed me of my sentences to string you 
Along, now there are no more words to fill up a meaning
And there are no more syllables to make up your song, 
You have judged to sentence me to a silent misery, 
If there is some regret in you, may it chain you to every 
Inch of the servitude that I once volunteered for you. 

I carry with me my words and our noises, I recite it with
A couple thousands steps along the way to put me in 
God’s way and to my own ease—if physicality is your
Intimacy then you must be as pure as the Madonna, if 
Words are my intimacy then I should be as filthy as any
Other smut on a whore, but who are you to fall to your 
Feet and declare yourself my friend? And who is he to 
Turn on his feet and become a heartless foe? Call it 
What you want—whatever lies you may tell yourself 
And wherever your heart belongs, whoever you are 
Holding me now in your hand, I know a thousand 
Poems cannot save me anymore, more than ever before. 

by Leya Kuan

You are Just a Friend

Every lie you tell me belongs in Heaven 
and every shred of truth can go right down to the depths of Hell—pour it out of half my soul and fill up your cup
Just because you are just, just because we only are just, 
You make me nineteen in the same way you are, you 
Bring me back to the childhood I lost when I was fifteen, 
Stop the time and stop that man! Stop it all at the line, 
Can’t we just be alone with no other entity to prey upon 
Us? Can’t we be left alone on our own without a prayer?

Maybe I will never be her, I cannot love you because 
Someone else got to get to you first, but there is this
One beating in my heart that I cannot put to a feeling, 
But how nice that she got to hold you in her arms and 
Declare that skin hers to feel to a fault, I get to hold you
Too but without a word to hold me accountable, even if
I am content with this worthless warmth, Winehouse has
To warn me some waiting urgency, that my heart will 
Break for you every time, just because I am/was not her.

And as much as I dream and delude myself into 
Believing I am some film star with a camera trailing my
My lines and my moves, you will remember that certain
Part of me that no one else will bother with, no one no 
More, the more I feel, the more I would like to forget, 
I write this in my underwear, I do not let you look
Under where my truth leads to, there is nothing more 
Than what meets the naked eye, I am so predictable that
Everybody already knows, everybody talks as if they do. 

Whatever you want to call me, love, or Leya, 
Let me fall in love alone and mend the heart you did not get to break, it is not your fault that my days are filled with you, even worse when my days have no hint of you, 
Have you the courage equal to my desire? I clap with
One hand tied behind my back, fingers crossed, in 
Anticipation or to relieve me of any red herring you laid
Out for me to trip all over, I could swear that there was 
Someone for me to love, another Troy for me to destroy. 

by Leya Kuan

Untitled

i. An ex-lover told me that I chew people up and spit them out after I am finished with them. They are left half-consumed, the enzymes from my saliva still working at their gnawed flesh. I cannot deny the way I used to toy around with hearts like a curious kitten, pawing back and forth at them until they served no use to me.
I did not know what love was then.
Maybe I still don’t.
ii. Jackson C. Frank’s warbling through the tin-toned speakers reminds me that even if I caught a boat back to England, maybe even to Spain, that the blues would catch up with me either way. And not the type of blue that washes over you as a weighted blanket, a calm that envelops you in peaceful slumber. But rather a blue in which you drown, that eventually consumes you in all manners of sadness. A dark blue tidal wave crashes into you, shifting tides and carrying you in its undertow as you struggle to surface.
Please do not leave me.
Please do not make me succumb to this spectrum of blue.
iii. Scars are just the remnants of an open and bare flesh wound. One day, with time and effort, they will heal. Topical ointments do their damnedest to soothe the tissue, but it is not a cure-all healing salve. Just like heartbreak. Just like the way you left in the middle of the night, in silence. A ghost that haunts me even now; to this day. Perhaps I deserve this. Maybe it is our God-given right to have our souls remain shackled at the ankles for all our transgressions against one another.
You were right: I am but a lowly sinner, I can try to atone at your feet, exalting your name and paying you alms for all the petty jabs and stabs I managed to get in.
But so are you.
A toxic flower with petals unfurled, yearning to bloom, but no proper fertiliser and care, so you remain an unsprouted bulb, your roots so meek and feeble that the former shadow of yourself no longer exists.

by Christa Lei

para mi vato

unas palabras para el vato que quiero
a piece of mexican love, from my chicana heart.

mi vato, eres lluvia
eres mi tristeza y mi crecimiento,
me haces sentir diferente cada día,
aunque mis emociones terminan siendo las mismas,
te quiero, podría declarar fácilmente bajo cualquier juramento – eres tu, vato, el que tiene mi corazón.

yo sé que tu sabes –
pero también sé que el recordatorio no hace daño. así que por última vez, mi vato, te quiero.

sinceramente,
mia.

by M.S. Blues

mi amor está aquí (esperándote)

para chris

–

siempre fui hipnotizado por ti, quierdo,
mucho antes de que te conviertes en hombre, te quiera.

cuando dejamos de hablar la primera vez, traté de olvidarte.
me entregué a las distracciones y al mal amor.
lo cual funcionó, porque durante años, mi mente estaba vacía de cualquier recuerdo tuyo.

luego vino el cine el 1 de noviembre mi cumpleaños –
habían pasado años desde que te vi,
sin embargo, viejos sentimientos regresaron a mi corazón,
y me di cuenta de que ahora eres un hombre, ya no solo el vato que me gustaba en aquel entonces –
tu voz se hizo más profunda,
tus ojos tenían un propósito,
y tu boca pronunció palabras reales,
no las tonterías y maldiciones que pronunciamos en aquel entonces.

después de estas observaciones, supe que mi amor se había encendido nuevamente,
sólo la llama era mayor que antes.

continúe siguiendo esa llama,
… y comenzamos a hablar de nuevo,
olvidándonos de los años transcurridos entre nosotros.
era como si volviéramos a ser jóvenes, salvajes, y libres.

a medida que pasaban los días, más me enamoraba de ti.
se volvió demasiado difícil de soportar,
así que un día abrí la boca y te lo dije,
y tu amor mió, respondiste diciendo: “intentemoslo.”
no podría haber estado más feliz.
pero, como suele decirse, la felicidad no llega fácilmente,
me abandonaste, amor, antes de que pudiéramos dar el primer paso juntos como uno solo.
no entendí, así que hice lo que sólo sabía. me fui de nuevo y tomamos caminos separados.
pero eso no significa que no estuviera devastada.

durante meses, amor mió, eras todo lo que tenía en mente.
cerraría los ojos y tu rostro estaría allí, mientras tu voz resonaba en mis oídos.
supongo que realmente eres especial.

–

luego llegó febrero,
y volviste a la anarquía de mi vida.

me recogiste de hamilton y, con un amigo, nos aventuramos por la ciudad.
se intercambiaron palabras bajo los ojos de sol,
y hice lo mejor que pude para escuchar,
a pesar de la hipnosis de este maldito amor que me invade cada vez que hablas.
solo desearía que supieras lo que me hiciste.
al final de la noche, declaramos hablar de nuevo, reavivar la llama.

y lo hicimos.
hablamos y esa llama en mi corazón se convirtió en un infierno de amor abrumador.

creo que finalmente reconociste mi amor por ti,
porque me expresaste una verdad que has albergado durante mucho tiempo.

crees que no eres lo suficientemente buena para mi.
crees que me arrastraras hacia abajo.

amante, no podría estar más en contra de estos pensamientos que tienes.

déjame decirte, mi amor.
te mereces todo lo que hay en mi –
cada maldito pedazo de mi corazón, alma, mente, cuerpo y amor.
te lo doy todo.

pero la elección es tuya, mi amor.
tienes que luchar contra tus demonios y cruzar el otro lado de la carretera –
porque ahí es donde estoy, esperando.
mi amor y yo estamos aquí, esperándote.

by M.S. Blues

My Faith in Fate

You used to be someone—
Never mind who, never mind when,
But you used to
Cry at heartbreaking moments of a talkie,
Sob at the words at the end of a knife,
Do your tears dry up when you’re sixty?
Or is it all gone,
That surface-level sorrow, that lonesome feeling,
At the sight of your first wrinkle in the mirror?

You wished to be someone—
Never mind those dreams, never mind them at all,
Because they are figments of your imagination,
And they linger, still, in the corners of your mind,
Vanishing behind the shadows of your children,
And on the heels of your husband’s leather shoes,
A singer, no, you couldn’t get to the highest notes,
A surgeon, no, you hate ketchup and blood,
Resigned to being somebody’s wife, someone’s mother.

You talked about yourself—
Never mind your name, never mind your voice,
They see your face, pat your husband on the back,
They talk to you through your husband,
You don’t know words, you are deaf and mute,
You are spoken for, and speak only when spoken to,
A child, you are ushered towards the other wives,
Have fun, play with toys till it’s time to go,
You hate them all, the talking heads and drunkards.

You don’t know what to do–
Never mind yourself, never mind yourself at all,
They don’t know your name, they don’t remember,
You are Mrs So-and-So, So-and-So’s mother!
Your mother-in-law is a mother only to to your husband,
Only till you belong to the Earth once more,
To be resigned to fate once is divine punishment,
To meet a coincidence of fate again divine death,
And yet the dirt in between your toes disappears.

by Leya Kuan

Shadow of a Star - Leslie Cheung

Shadow of a Star
Has your soul changed at all
Since we last spoke?
This month your voice sounds the loudest,
I remember your death more than your birthday,
I remember the tears I shed every April First,
Mourning each passing year as it
Comes and goes like the droplets on my cheeks,
I remember your shadow more than your presence,
Mourning a person I never even knew
A voice on the radio, a reflection of light,
In your grasp, in your eyes, the world is small.

Has your voice changed,
Would you sing for me, if Heaven, if Hell,
Could you remind me of
The way things used to be,
Even though I never knew it, never knew you,
But maybe—just maybe—
In your foregone reality, there’s still the possibility,
And I think we could’ve been great friends,
Or maybe you would’ve hated me,
Maybe it could’ve all passed us by,
Like nameless ships in the sea, nothing ever exchanged.

Love of my life, love of many lives,
Your voice remains in my mind still,
You are gone, but a mere shadow,
But maybe–just maybe–
We shall leave together, you and I,
When I am alone, your soul remains with me still,
A friend in the dark, a voice, a shadow nonetheless,
I have to remind myself that you are far away,
And I do not know you, I never did,
Yet there is today, a missed opportunity of time,
Until next time, farewell my concubine.

by Leya Kuan

You/I Will

Sweetheart, I call you,
One day, if that day should ever begin,
You will be with your family, your children, your wife
And you will think of me, of us,
And you will stare at the yellowed photos of us,
It sends you into a trance, it was a simpler time,
Of days of flowers and folded notes,
Fleeing, fleeting, lost to the ashes of time.

Darling, I say your name,
You will be asleep on the couch, tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned,
You can’t hear me, or rather, you choose not to,
And I’ll wonder whatever this was all for,
If not for love, then for the guarantee of it,
I’ll put a blanket over you, think about holding a pillow over you,
And the days go by, just like that,
Slowly, surely, lost to the obscurity of our family’s time.

Sweetheart, I say again,
You will tell some story about us being young lovers,
And I will–obviously–beg you to spare me the blushing cheeks,
Each time you tell it there’s a different detail,
Each time I smile there’s a different wrinkle,
But when the children and grandchildren disperse out the door,
You’ll still be waiting there to see if anyone’s looking,
Softly, secretly, a kiss between two old youngsters.

Darling, if that day should ever come,
Then I’ll call my friends up and tell them I’m a fortune teller,
I’ve got the hottest news on celebrity gossip and lottery numbers,
But you’ll sit here, and you’ll wait for me, as I brag and cackle,
If that day should never come, then you will be there,
Still in a trance, still next to your wife, and I will be
Gone, or somewhere far away with someone else,
Always, after all, still on your mind.

by Leya Kuan

The grief eater

When my grandfather died
I thought my world would end.

My grandmother, teary eyed
And shaky voiced, said to me

“You wished it was me
they laid in that casket, nuh true?”

I, eyes swollen and tongue heavy
from biting back words, let loose

“He should be here with me now
He should not be the one

Who wanders through these rooms
formless and untouchable.”

I did not wait to watch her tears fall;
I never thought she could cry.

She let a choke-sound escape
but she hit her chest twice

then swallowed loudly
and walked briskly away.

Years on years would fly by and
grief became a muted song

But my words to her would remain
gnawing at my tender heart.

When her memory began to fail,
I prayed my grief-spurned words

disappeared into the abyss like
the fact that the story she was

telling me was about the tenth
telling in half hour or less.

I spread “I love you” (and meant it) over our conversations, like a blanket.

I prayed she held those so close
That even in her now formless state

It warms her and reminds her
Of the little girl she loved so fiercely

that she attempted to take her grief
And hurt and swallow it whole.

by Karolyn K Smith

The Love Story of our Friendship

Where do I begin…you promised to be here for me to the end… you have seen the good, the bad and the ugly… but you never made me feel less than and felt that you were above me. I remember when we first met, we talked about all our hopes and dreams… but whenever I felt doubtful you always reminded me that my dreams are never as far as they may seem.

You seen me laugh… you seen me cry… you have seen all of my faces and different sides… you always seem to bring me out of my shell… but also create a safe place for me to tell my deepest thoughts and secrets in which you promise never to tell… you know when I have the tendency to put up walls… but I don’t have to be scared with you by my side because you’ll catch me every time I fall… you wipe away my tears from all the pain of it all.

This world would be harder to deal with if I didn’t have you in my life… if we never would have met it would have been a harder fight... but I love you and you mean so much that I’ll always hold you tight… even in the darkest of times you always seem to find the light… make me feel alright… I have so much love for you that no amount of words can describe… thank you so much for being my ride or die.

by NelliKong Psalms

Escape From Your Heart

It’s hard for you to have your feelings for me escape from your heart… you felt your world change when I got on a different plane to depart… that’s when you started to fall apart… not to a different location, but we aren’t in the same place… you felt like another person would be able to take my place… we’re moving at a different pace… now you fell flat on your face and looking for saving grace.

The way that I made your heart feel with an abidance of emotion… you took for granted my time and devotion… but soon you’ll realize that I’m never coming back and you’ll wish to have a magi potion, to beg for my return… now those tears you cry actually burn.

You can’t escape the impact that I had on your life… now you feel alone because you lost the fight… now you feel the pain you caused, each and every slice… the weight that held me down, now I’m free to fly high like a kite… now you’re left with the bill to pay the price.

by NelliKong Psalms

You Read Me Like Poetry

The way you read me is like no other… you read all of my pages and didn’t stop at the cover… it’s as if when you read me, you don’t just see black and white but hues of every color… then you add your words of affirmation and it makes my heart flutter… you even read my imperfections and error without a stutter.

You’re really good at reading in between the lines… how you don’t judge the limits that I don’t define… maybe you don’t always understand my rhymes… what they try to describe, but you always try to understand me from a different pair of eyes.

Poetry is an art that varies from person to person… but you always choose to read mine… so in that case I’ll continue to be poetry that you read, I know you’ll always have the time.

by NelliKong Psalms

Our Unheard Screams

Do you know that plants can be in pain too?
Do you know that they scream and send out distress signals?
Do you know that they too, like us, can feel?


It was true.
But I wasn't talking only about plants.
I was also talking about you,
and me.


About us who have learnt to cry in silence.

About us who have learnt how to bite our tongue for the sake of maintaining peace.

About us who have learnt to dig our nails to our palms than to claw at other's faces.

About us who have learnt to hold the anger within us and silently burn ourselves from within than to sear at another's skin.

Tell me,
have you grown tired yet?
Tired of screaming for help but get nothing but a sore throat.


Tell me,
have you grown tired yet?
Tired of explaining yourself but still, get nothing but blame.


Tell me,
have you grown tired yet?
Tired of bending over backwards to please, yet still expected to do more.


I am.
I am, in fact, tired.


Let's plan our way out shall we?


Maybe we can build a little cottage somewhere in the forest.
Maybe we can live in peace, surrounded with the things we love.


Or maybe,
Let's stop and look around.
Try to listen to those cries.


To the cries that came from others who are just like us.

Let's try listening,
maybe one day someone will listen to us too.

by MG

Happiness Hurts

They say happiness feels like the warmth of daylight seeping in through your skin. Embracing your bones, and turning your heart into a mushy puddle of delight.

They say happiness is yellow.
Bubbly and bright.

They say happiness smells like cookies and cupcakes, and a plethora of flowers blooming between the butterflies in your stomach.

They say happiness is the laughter and smiles you share with your loved ones.

Lingering. Heartwarming.


If so…

Then I never knew this thing called happiness at all.


To me, happiness felt like a dream trapped in a distant screen.

Like the reflection of the moon upon the still water surface.

Visible.
Impossible to touch.


Like scraping a rock with your nails desperate to feel.

Close.
Impossible to accomplish.


You will only be left with blood and mangled fingers.

You will only be left with an aching heart and a hollow chest.


How wretched.


It was merely another thing outside my grasp.


Exist to tempt.
Impossible to get.

by MG

She is gone now

The sight

of flour on skin,

age spots

form an archipelago

across your arms.

a clutter
of dusty
pictures and
rosaries
under your bed.

Life, you’d sometimes think, hadn’t been that good to me.

Girdles that
squeezed
your fibroid
infested womb—
An old hallowed out

home to five
Barricaded
Against
Life.


You comb

your unruly

hair back;
look uncomfortable.
The look is not you.
I love it when you just
Let it be—

rather than tame it
And look like a scared
Old lady
Instead of the courageous
Heroine that you are.



You still store things
Away
In overflowing drawers
And cupboards
Afraid that one day
You will need

Something

& it will not be there:

What trauma
Gave birth to that?



You say,
I feel your mother
Is doing something

To me—

Like I can’t put my
Fingers on it –
Your hands, exasperated go up in the air

Only to slowly come down

And rest, at your side

Powerless.

We loved each other once.

The nights
I fell asleep
under the
symphony
of your snores:
Uncountable.
Sleeping,
side by side
A woman, and her grandchild.




You say,
Pointing to
A brand new

Press, you say,

Look at that

What my
daughter

Buy for me—

You know what she say?
She say,

when you die

I’m taking it back.

What kind of thing

Is that to say? And you

Schweups at the

callousness of your


Child.



You’ve got:

Two kitchens,

a Toilet

without a door,

social security

checks

deposited

In

Brooklyn.


We walk
down the street
and you smile at
a stranger,
and giggle like
a child...
But wait nah,
you say, stopping,
in a daze. I
thought that was
Nen-nen, but
nen-nen
die long
time now...

What is happening to me, you ask?

& no matter how
hard I try,

I can not answer:

Alzheimers.

by Lesley-Ann Brown

Miles in my skin

These are mine – they are the breadth of the world and the length of my life.

It is the arcade tickets in blue that now look brown,

And the movie stubs, creased and torn in two

That let me know I was ever there with you.

I have created space in every wallet, every room

To make sure your things were never absent

To cherish our time spent.

Until ‘you’ meant someone new

And I would cry when I found I could create new spaces to fill,

Reminding me of the strength my hands had

To build new drawers and keep moving forward.

Some things I lost on my travels and I am even glad,

(Not having them makes me remember more)

To not carry much with me when I explore.

But tucked away, under thorns and brambles, as often as I can,

I look under them to see if I can find anything more to know about you.

Though you are galaxies away and I no longer see them in your eyes,

It is the moon that recalls our last goodbyes.

And it is a pity I have nothing else to remember that by.

by Hannah

“we’re not alone”

4.10.22

[ i experience ]

a restless synesthesia of sensations

my soul its own dimension

of loosely woven associations

And

nuance

sometimes i think i pay a little too much attention

my jaw perpetually clenched

strained by the daily omission

of ineffable prose

so today i embrace my sensitive observations

indulging in the union of all things

i notice what’s not necessarily there

i talk around and not through

i challenge claims of irrelevance

and forever hold

that “far-fetched” is a cowards favorite word

because yesterday i felt seafoam green

And

this room smells like winter

And

my skin squirms like earthworms

when i see bumpy trees

and that’s the only way i know how to put it

my love language is longform

i let my teeth tear away at the succulent flesh of a cherry

and savor it as i would a lover

picking their brain before reaching their core

the juice dripping down my lips as it fountains from their hips

a delicious mess

i don’t just take note

i see the universe in you

i think in words

i speak in pictures

i feel sounds like textures rippling through my veins

i walk backwards and run forwards

And

i am never satisfied

i am the consequence of an infatuation

prolonged

by a silver tongue

and resulting miscommunications

so it is in my nature not to be straightforward

pheromones released and a love drunk mistake

bore me:

a curse from the cosmos

an /enigma/

to the masses ;

[ [ a living, breathing retrograde

] ]

- A.

by Amaya Branche

Making Up With the Sun

We need to make up with the sun,

Did I do something wrong?

When we talk about the daylight hours that we are robbed of

on our commute home

Is that why I feel so alone?

The coloured houses share in my sympathy.

They look back at me

They know how I want to go so desperately

To see them

To be filled with the same energy

When life is in grayscale

I come back in Picasso’s colour

(Sharp yet soft

A blend of sorts)

Bright and lovely.

Paintings and you always go together.

Merging like oil paints in the caveats of my memory

How I want to be there so desperately

On top of the molar hills of sickly-sweet greenery

How life felt like a 1920’s Weimar movie

A golden era

I think, as I walk back from the station.

Unable to mention how I feel.

Lips tightened; sealed.

Just like your grasp

Loosely tight

Supposedly comforting in the speckled evening light.

Where was I?

Back to this conversation which reminds me of you.

How I predict that you would agree

That the phrase sounds interesting

‘Making up with the sun’

Making up with you

How desperately I wish things didn’t end

When they had just begun.

by Pippa Hill