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Marinate sleep overnight in a fish sauce and chilli marinade and the next night you will dream of tropical oceans, of migratory birds, of hourglasses filled with rose petals. In the creamy days, we cry, we harbour petty animosities, we seek a fluctuating peace. Our linen dries on the cobblestones, in diminishing circles time claims us, and every minstrel’s breath seeks a harmony wedded to a virgin’s nipples, or similar sanctity. Goodbyes are leavened with enough pretence, most often, to placate the squeamish – it’s a pattern woven tightly into the very earth. Pay the collector of secrets. Your bed orbits the sun, and if you love, be lenient, your emotions will spontaneously revivify from each bruise. |
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