the little black lizards
scurry away
to hide under rocks

bettles and bugs
squat inside their
carapaces
snails in their shells

the novice hunter
is out and about
large pawed
and excitable

he jumps and scitters
catching leaves
and grass heads

while the birds sit and watch

You held me as I
Washed our dishes,
Soap suds sticking to my elbows
Bent against the curve of your
Arms that went on for days,

And I, in that moment
As the bubbles blossomed from
My dark fingers into the
Splash and sound of
Your tiny sink
Knew that
Even if you asked me not to
Wash away
Every inch of me from your kitchenette,
I couldn’t.

Somehow, as your breathing tickled
The side of my neck
I knew that leaning in
To wash away my sins
Meant leaning out
Into the ever widening eclipse of our
Infinity

Try as I may to hide it, Beloved,
My writing knows when I don’t love enough
The stranger I have become to you.

- Why I will always wash the dishes

I am made of water

I first learnt it when, at age 13
I dropped a glass of it
And it trickled through my veins
As my father told me he didn’t know why he loved me

After that, every day I was kissed by sunlight
I shimmered
Like a pond lost in a forest of
Thought that no one visited

I used to look at my hands and wonder
Why I could see right through
The sinew
And bone
Into translucent fluid bubbling
Where blood red should be

But whenever someone deigned to hold
My shaking digits, I felt the cold
Of my insides freezing us both
Eventually, when they could no longer hold
My icy arms,
They let go
On their way to greener pastures

Then I would melt
Seek the sun,
Weep for joy at the torrents inside me
That flowed again

You cannot touch this liquid life
Unless your fingers are blessed by a burning
Unlike anything before or after you,

I long to simmer in a scalding embrace,
You whom I have yet to meet,
You who will boil my insides until
One day,
I disappear
Like a pond dried up in summer,
Its filaments caressing the sun,
Lost forever to the world below

Until after years,
I will rain again on gardens
That men will worship
And whose beauty,
(Nourished by a love that no one knows),
Will enshrine our embrace for generations