Cover Image by Donghwa Lee
The sting of nautical dawn broke through the linen billows
As you slept,
All that we were – fossilized in sheets –
Heralding November, November Juliet.
I remember Quebec
The compass points of your hands
Your chest wet rock
Lowering anchor – depth 200 to 220
Then suddenly 2000 feet.
Below the photic layer we travelled;
Reaching Abyssal, Hadopelagic, Benthic zones
You, my very own thalassology.
But then came
– November Tango Uniform.
You lost yourself at sea, you
Lost even to the dioptric, catadioptric, bull’s-eye prisms of the lighthouse eye.
Encased within your very own Bermuda triangle, your very own enigma, carried away by the Gulf Stream with nothing but
– November, I’m sorry. November Juliet.
One night stanza
Starts with a laugh, the flick of a switch,
The growl of a zip
Elicits the charge.
A desert of pours
Undressed and impressed
Convex of you, concave of me,
Fingers traversing, a trajectory.
Engorged and absorbed,
Alive at the juncture,
A fleck on the
Chain of demand and supply,
Short breaths and a sigh
Disgorged at the zenith.
Flushes and smirks itch at the air
Emanation of sweat and coarse gratification,
Amplified bodies await the partition
Artless and uncertain.
Gauche lingerie litters the floor
– like fall out –
Splintered and suddenly shy.
Transaction signed for,
Parched, and forgotten,
To the juncture
Le contrate de carnem.
Answer this, because I too want to adore her;
Did your heart beat faster the first time you saw her?
I want to feel how you felt when your eyes first met,
Did the world fade away in the languor of her
Laughter? Did it feed your ears like ambrosia,
Ringing out like a promise you’d get more from her
Than I could ever give you? What about her lips,
Did you know from the taste that you could adore her?
Does falling for her feel like flying instead of
Drowning? Would they change the laws of physics for her?
And do your fingers paint sand dunes onto her skin –
Erasing my touch as your body explores her,
Does her breath melt onto your neck like mercury?
Does her name colour your dreams as you call for her?
How about her soul, does it burn as bright as the
Stars that burned from your eyes into mine before her?
Or do those stars burn harder now? Brighter, now that
You’d go to war for her, now that you adore her?
The Mathematics of Love
3) Assume that love is a triangle
With Intimacy, Passion and Commitment poised at its points:
You are told that Passion + Commitment is illogical – point less
You are also told that Intimacy + Commitment breeds a love without fire, void in its obtuseness and blunted.
If Passion + intimacy = ‘romantic love’
– A pointed love, penetrative and piercing, producing an acute pain that oscillates between x and y, a love otherwise known as the eventual destruction of the self –
Calculate the probability of successfully joining all 3 together in straight lines.
The difference between
Full fat and skinny. Love and
For the tallest boy
On Earth, who ran a mile from
His heart but taught me
how to love. Whose name
Tastes like honeyed ignorance,
Summer and the sea.
The mirror stares back
The mirror stares back;
Bones resist tracing paper
Skin. Blunt eyes glitter.
Corners of parched lips
Rise up like marionettes,
And brittle nails twitch.
Weary organs sigh,
Instruments grown tired and stale –
The mirror stares back.