there is soil underneath my fingertips
from ripping up flowerbeds
because when i dyed my hair red
the color of roses tainted with metallic blood
for you
you told me that it looked prettier
in her garden
the color of my eyes
is sandy, ***** like my name on your lips
but her eyes look just like the ocean
that i am desperate to reach every time the tide is high
you make yourself known with shaking hands
and unstable heartbeats
and the floorboards howl with every step you take
and yet
every time you feel i am getting too close
you remind me you are
*just visiting

The first winter I ever loved
coincided with my introduction
to Summer.

Three years younger,
she had defeated China
and in her wake lay one thousand men,
mouths hung open;
straining for her ear-shot.

Every taxi driver
spent more time looking in his rear-view mirror,
every ticket collector tarried
in the purchase; a hope to extend the moment
that he could be there, with her.

Used to watch her across the office,
her pencil skirt, precise eyeliner;
the way she would smell her tea
as it brewed in the flask.

Used to stray outside her classroom,
listened to her speak Chinese
to a room of students that would listen intently
as unfamiliar tones spread
across her easy smile.

She sang her tentative songs
over vague karaoke nights,
we sang together in English;
our neighbours sang in Thai.

I took her to the mountains
on the back of my motorbike,
she talked softly in my ear;
her legs pressed close to mine.

The first winter I ever loved
coincided with my introduction
to Summer.

The most beautiful woman
I had ever seen.

I lay still beneath her friendship,
bit my tongue in misplaced passion.
I stood and stared as she walked on by,
into the arms
of anyone’s

but mine.