that night i met you at the teahouse chromatised in lily shaped lights
i was just a frightened forest girl.
in a city of giants and icons, bullet trains, tallest buildings
known to man.

you were another grown up face
ascribed in ways of diversion, enclosed by a table of faded
black and white revelry.

and you singled me out
for my vulnerability, or brightness?
the big-round, red river lanterns wobbled slightly
in the breeze escaping through streetways,
almost like your wavering expression, as if
caught between a featureless boardroom, and a lost dream of
sailing your tent on the track of the august pacific.

we walked along eroded stoneslabs, like a mini adventure to a step
in the past - where water-hovering dragon maches have inspired
many marriage ceremonies. your atlas lips kissed my hair just as
i had imagined my first brushes of sex, so many times. but this. was
like being discovered, for humanity's most humble acts,
the ones that detest praise, repel attention.

you said you wanted to see the world through my eyes, the effect
of tonic- from the moon.
that you could give me corporate frills and persian carpets.
snared in the finest penthouse suites like rapunzel.
you rapidly went on a business proposition, incomprehensible as
the hemoglobin of notes
preserving the genius in mozart's alien symphonies.

for some stupid reason, i felt the anxiety of those expelled to auschwitz.
perhaps i was afraid of conquering everything too fast.

to think i somehow had control over those distant high lights,
that i could watch the city burn for me. my throat became air tight,
in that moment of great expectations, waking to fingertip senses.

i smiled, a sweet, fay smile.
as the evening suspended your globed eyes in a painted
universe of sophistication. egotistical as an atheist forum, or the
cult of old men and italian suits cooped up in an antique library.
you remind me of love songs in desert arabic.
i told him to watch this
as i released a deep white breath
of icy smoke rings
floating away, freer than clouds,
fragile as hopes in anchorless minds.
and disappeared into the cold stomach of the nightly magician.

"that's a no, isn't it..."

and suddenly
as if the elements sought to favour a prophecy,
or my detriment,
snowflakes began to mummify our coats
they fell more splendidly with each breath.




and then we laughed, and ran.
.
.
.
and maybe i'll regret, a hundred years from now.

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