Constellations of frozen glances
I so lovingly photographed and watched 
Fade through the icy glass of photo frames. 
A blazing pattern of fire
Streaking across the unblinking eyes on my wall.

Scorch marks, blackened over time.

I miss the heat from the stove, 
On the nights of adventures in deck chairs,
Watching, or not, movies in blankets of ourselves.
Seeing you receive slopping kisses from man’s best friend,
You were; you are mine. 


I love someone:
His curled yellow pages, his
Twisted edges molding into
Blinding white sheets behind uneven print.
A shoebox, a toothbrush, a jar,
The smell of a letter, 
My relentless adhesive.

When the title fades the words lose meaning the syntax fails.
Bury the pages in the dirt
watch something grow from your story.
Unfurl the petals of your diction,
preserve them in a dictionary,
weave them between your fingers
stitch them into your palms.

Crumbling sheets and misplaced feathers that lie
Delicately on the transparent skin
Of two lovers whom are nestled within
A makeshift home. As fleeting as a sigh
Of resigned hope. A limited supply
Scorns at the times that would’ve, could’ve been.

Yet one of transience is not without weight,
And hope need not be crushed down to the floor.
A temporal sweetness does still satiate
The dullness of a tongue that has once more
Tasted the touch of love’s open gate,
So clear the anguish is worth striving for.



Wrapping myself in petals of familiarity,
Every morning they bloom into 
Grotesque images of people, places, objects,
Leafy sepals of sameness.

Empty empty vacuous flower bud.

Senseless clambering for water, 
For a moving constant, a flowing necessitation.
Nourish me with the lick of your honeyed tenderness.

Sick of monotony,
But wanting what once was.
C’est La Vie
Dizzying homesickness, 
Lacking in you.


Clean your wounds with callused hands,
Dirtied fingertips, chipped nails.
Infect them with the best intentions.
I don’t know the slightest of you
But let me help you.

In you, out of you, with you, as you.
A failure to distinguish two halves,
But the splintered fragments are so obvious.
I cracked you, but you didn’t me.
I took a chisel to myself and peeled away the plaster.

Piece me back together,
Gloved palms and a sterile fragrance.
Hold me in the back of a streetcar,
Surrounded by the unromantic stale leather
And tell me we’re leaving.

Going, going, going:
Nowhere, everywhere, to your house, to mine.
Scale the cliffs of our relationship
And look at the view.
Pray it’s an eternal summer.

And it’s you who’s the idealist.
You paint a scene of blues and reds,
Starks contrasts, you paint white on white.
Bleach out the imperfections, give me
Pastel shades of muted glory.

Take me on a trip.
Fluxing into your mind and back out through your eyes.
Tether me to you hope because
I don’t have


I went to my cousin’s wedding this past weekend. Not to my surprise, nor to the surprise of others, I managed to forgot the last hour of the night. Champagne is my kryptonite – what can I say? I’m a spoilt, light-weight cheap drunk. Nevertheless, prior to this wonderful bubbly induced oblivion. I realized a lot, although it was clouded over by a haze of joyous banter and unrestrained dancing to Billy Jean (who is most certainly not my lover).

I was surrounded by couples; genuinely a maze of relationships, all of which, ridiculously enough, had lasted longer than 6 years. Even my 21 year old cousin had been seeing his girlfriend since he was 14 – I never realized it before this weekend, but my family has a tendency for long relationships. My parents have been married for 23 years now (their anniversary was on the first of this month, strangely enough), and before that, my mum was in a 10 year relationship. 

Despite the obvious fact I had a boyfriend, my aunts and uncles joked around (I hope!) and offered to set me up with a rather good looking friend of our entire extended family. I may be as committed as any girlfriend could be, but let’s be honest, I can appreciate a fine specimen when I see them. It was funny – I bummed a cig off of him behind by relatives backs, we stole ice-cream from the children’s’ room and downed the last two glasses of white wine (yes, a little variety in my alcoholic diet).

Nevertheless, the only person on my mind was Joe. I called him, from Malaysia, to the USA. I hardly remember it, but even when considering how bloody expensive that call is going to be, I regret nothing. I’m quite sure that I was happiest when listening to the sound of his voice – obviously my first realization of the night was how much I missed him. I missed him while I dressed up, while I made my way through ten courses, when I was foolishly dancing. I had no one there that meant enough to me for me to want to impress them, nobody to laugh at my food baby, no one to give me kisses when I stumbled back into my hotel room.

When people weren’t trying to set me up, they were asking me when I was going to get married. Would the wedding be in Hong Kong? Singapore? Malaysia? Canada? Ridiculous questions to ask a seventeen year old, who hasn’t even been to university yet. A little strange, and very stifling. The next realization that I came to was about my family – they didn’t expect fleeting relationships, and they didn’t see this as a fleeting relationship at all. I’m a little bit scared now.

But most of all, I suppose I’m a little bit happy. I love weddings – I want a big one, white gown, church, getting walked down the aisle, a full banquet and all the people I love in the world around me. This weekend just emphasized that. I don’t care if you can get a divorce readily these days, I don’t care if people think weddings are social constructs that mean nothing. I love weddings because you won’t find more love anywhere else in the world. I love weddings because everyone there, divorced, widowed, single, engaged – no matter what they are, is recognizing the presence of love. Maybe this doesn’t apply to arranged marriages, but let’s assume that those aren’t included here. The main reasons I love weddings is because, in a world that can be so cold, weddings are like a brick framed fireplace, a mug of hot chocolate, an electric blanket or a snuggie. I wrap myself up in weddings – I wrap myself up in the idealistic fantasy that I too will one day experience a day of which its purpose is simply love. 

it must be.

Lukewarm and silky, the water kissed my cheeks,

Brushed the sleep from my eyes, lifted the corners of my lips.


A step out, a frozen gasp, the bitter chills.

Old insecurity seeps out, new insecurity seeps in.


The water dries up, the pressure of heat 

Pressing onto my shoulders, I bend,


I break. Piece myself together, become the puzzle,

Fragmented but whole. Sweet dismemberment, tender deceit.


Crawl back – crawl back to the pool,

A toe first, then a leg. Submerged, the realization:


It was all in your mind, the heat a passing dalliance.

The water must be/it must be/it has to be.