In this room, you said, “Love is a failed snowflake
intended for the tongue, a flower petal that can’t avoid
wilting upon hitting the ground.”
In this room of deteriorating interiors,
I am surrounded by the language of us
steaming the windows up, as if something is baking.
In this room, you smell of every recipe I regret making.
The fucks, the good lucks, the food poisoned stomach
Heaving to let it all be released……..
In this room, I walked the streets of your soul,
Shed my tourist skin, got to know your ports,
The interior rooms of your mind, the natural glory of your sex.
In this room, I stand
Holding a human heart in my hand, dripping with blood
Searching for a way to love,
The miracle/the ugly in my hand.