Dinner

We will dance on the cold pebbles
beside the lake where ripples
of clear blue water will tickle our feet,
where wisp of autumn air will thread
our hair and make us giggle like children,
and where dragons can turn into butterflies.

When dusk casts long shadows
across the garden, we will sit
with the chrysanthemums
and brew tea. We will read
our favourite poems to each other
and try to outwit one another
with stories, tall or short,
rhymed or unrhymed,
with or without meter,
until the last bits of light
seep into the air

Then, we shall have a feast together.
You will make some spaghetti
and crème brulee while
I fry some chow mein
and bake egg custard tarts.
We will savour dinner slowly
so that we can remember
every word we spent together,
every pixel dotted on paper,
until they’re chiseled
into our memories.

-----------------------------------
Autumn's NaPoWriMo Thread at PFFA

I want to add my thanks to David for his comments on my NaPo thread at PFFA. I had pm him earlier but had not posted my thanks in the thread because I did not want to pull it up again then. So, thanks David for the wonderful comments you left on the thread.

Lunch

Last night’s migraine stayed in my dreams
and I woke up with veins throbbing
like they were dancing to the beats
of some heavy metal band. I closed
my eyes to shut out the thread of light
that has escaped through the drawn curtains
and that was beaming like a spotlight on a soprano.

Something soft brushed across
my forehead and I tried to struggle
out of sleep. The smell of your cologne
and the aroma of my favourite
char siu rice filled the room. I smiled.

My eyes took in the flickering light
of candles softly licking the walls
of the room. You hugged me close
as your thumbs on my temples
massaged the pain away, until
somewhere a doorbell rang,
louder and louder, until
the doorbell became mine, until
your body was no longer against mine,

until I opened my eyes and realized
that lunch was never here.

Breakfast

Smell of rice boiling in water
fills the kitchen, cleaning the air
of yesterday’s fried chicken.
The congee with pieces of dried scallops
bubbles slowly on the stove.

I set the garnishing of ginger strips
and chopped spring onions on the table
and take out the crispy youtiao
from the oven, ready
to colour and flavour the congee.

I turn off the stove and together
with my fluffy slippers shuffle
back to the bedroom.
I pull off the blanket
from sleepy-head and touch
his cheek with my lips.
His eyes open and stare
at me for a moment
like I am an angel in his dream,
before he grab and pull
me down on top of him.

Breakfast can wait.

Sevenling (Searching)

Revised:

The day was humid and stifling like a bad migraine
while night crippled with stiffness of rheumatoid arthritis,
and early morning, congestive heart failure.

Alone in the house, I searched for you
in the gold ring you left behind, in the red hat
you used to wear and the brown sweater you last bought.

Outside the room, the staircase creaked a moan.

First draft:

The day was humid and stifling like a bad migraine
while night crippled with stiffness of rheumatoid
arthritis and early morning, congestive heart failure.

Alone in the house, I searched for you
in the gold ring you left behind, in the red hat
you used to wear and the sweater you last wore.

Outside the room, the staircase creaked a moan.

You're not alone

When clouds burst and wounds open
to reveal flesh scorched brown
and infested like rotten fruits,
just know you are not alone.

When rain falls and flushes
away dignity like paper clips
lost to eternity, remind yourself
that you are not alone.

When the sun sets and you fall
behind on a lame leg with the crisp
air biting your tail, just remember
that you are not alone.

--------------------------------
(after watching American Idol Gives Back.)

Cherished and Desired (Retitled: Cherished Wine)

Revised:

I like the way you taste my name;
let it spread across your tongue,
roll it side to side and aspirate
its flavour in a slow puff
of breath that seduces
my ear to surrender
like a soldier
in a lost war.

I like the way you drink in my voice;
let it slide slowly down your throat
to caress and warm your neck
like a muffler and then let it
settle in your chest before
it stirs into the stomach
and entices you
to sigh.

First draft:

I like the way you taste my name;
let it spread across your tongue,
roll it side to side and aspirate
its flavour in a slow puff
of breath that seduces
my ear to surrender
like a soldier
in a lost war.

I like the way you drink in my voice;
let it slide slowly down your throat
to caress and warm your neck
like a muffler and then let it
settle in your chest before
it stirs into the stomach
and entices you
to sigh.

I like the way you make me feel
like a full-bodied wine,
cherished and desired.

Bare

Revised:

The museum is silent
except for the sound
of exhibits not breathing,
of a mummy not unwrapping itself,
of dinosaurs’ bones not creaking,
of birds not flapping their wings,
of bugs not crawling
and of emptiness not hissing at you.

Our house is bare
except for the collection
of things untouched,
of lights not turned on,
of doors not unlocked,
of sofa not sat on,
of cupboards not opened
and of thoughts not thrown away.

First draft:

The museum is silent
except for the sound
of exhibits not breathing,
of a mummy not unwrapping itself,
of dinosaurs’ bones not creaking,
of birds not flapping their wings,
of bugs not crawling
and of emptiness not hissing at you.

Our house is bare
except for the collection
of things untouched,
of lights not turned on,
of doors not unlocked,
of sofa not sat on,
of cupboards not opened
and of mind not emptied of thoughts.

Myth or Truth?

I am a fish in a glass bowl,
long dead but I still have to
dance to your symphony
each time you pipe
the flute, each time
my mail box clinks.

I am an ostrich without
its head; my mind lost
in the sand each time
you draw a magnet
across my lips
to make it pucker in a kiss.

I am a unicorn, myth or truth,
now extinct but tease
to life by your breath
because you never know
I am dead.

------------------------------------
Note: This one should undergo a major revision but I'm not sure how I should go about it. I think I'll workshop this at PFFA.

Sevenling (Continents)

Today's lunch at a cafe in a cool mall
was pumpkin soup, spaghetti aglio olio
and vafler, washed down with a latte.

Dinner was a loud affair at a Chinese coffee shop
where we were served chicken porridge,
char siu cheong fun and sweet red bean soup.

Continents are merely patches on a map.

The Bridge

Revised (slightly revised):

I passed a bridge today,
which I did not cross
but instead hung onto the edge
like a cat being given a bath,
pondered if it was a test and waited
for my legs to step unafraid
on wavering shadows
and snarling seabugs.

I was afraid, afraid
of the colour of the sky
at the other end, afraid
of the sunset bleeding
into my skin, afraid
of wavering shadows
ghosting my body
and snarling seabugs
gnawing at my bones, afraid
of the exploration
of truths untold.

First draft:

I passed a bridge today,
which I did not cross
but instead hung onto the edge
like a cat being given a bath,
pondered if it was a test and waited
for my legs to step unafraid
on wavering shadows
and snarling seabugs.

I did not cross the bridge
because I was afraid
of the colour of the sky
at the other end, afraid
of the sunset bleeding
into my skin, afraid
of the exploration
of truths untold, afraid
of wavering shadows
ghosting my body
and snarling seabugs
gnawing at my bones.