Friday, 17 May 2019

Plume


when her idle fingertip
brushed past my heart
it left a trace in the dust

when she blew the smudge off
it fell like a dandelion of stars
 

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To the girl waiting under the tamarind tree

  You could have had your elbows propped up on the parapet of the ferry to the kampong You could have sighed at the sunset faded from the lo...