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More poems and contributor notes in Chinese feature

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Contributors

Eddie Tay

Eddie Tay



Even without a Body


Even without a body,
I feel real as the moon
that steals time from the night,
from you, my evening star.

Imagine me, perched high
above faceless buildings,
making love to you with words,
hoping that you bear
the fruit of my pencil's lust.

Once more my tongue is parched
like wings of a mosquito,
and once more it is thirsty
for the dark wine spilled
upon the paper of your skin.

So come, I will create for you
a city furious in the night.

Only, do not look for me.
I will not meet you
at roofs of townhouses.

You will not find me in faces
of strangers you pick up
from the streets, in clubs, in the gyms.

You will see me only in the eyes
of a lover who looks back at you.
There, we will ride the high winds.



Cold Wind


There is a cold wind
rising at 3 a.m.,
and here I am
on this furtive pavement of men,
haunting the night for you.

For months, the wine
spilled upon your thigh
was sweet against my tongue,
and I am now shaking
and shaking to learn
more of you.

I think I saw your feet
yesterday morning by the curb;
I know the curve of your heels,
but the sun was rising,
and I was a cold creature
shuffling by the road,
hiding among litters of leaves.

I was afraid
you would forget me,
like the words you forget
when you read,
or the clock you forget
when you glance at it
to check the time.

Your face contains for me
an entire dream,
full of secrets of the sea
I long to drink.

Among this assembly of crickets,
I think of the centuries
I've spent waiting for you
in the tropics, in bodies
of captains, sailors, pirates.



Naked, You can be Tasty


Naked, you can be tasty as honeydew
or sour, like green lemons stolen
from a garden. I was a cold creature
by your bed, watching as you sleep.

I was by your bed, curled up like a worm,
watching as you sleep. Your smile
gave me an apple sweet
from the first day.

I like you best when you are still,
as though you are dead.

Naked, you can be tasty as honeydew
or poisonous, like a fruit plucked too early.
I know it is hard
for you to forgive me, and forget.

I know it is hard. The church is hard
as the pavement, hard like a diamond
that cuts. I am tired of nails
and the shadow of Christ.

I like you best when you are still,
as though you are dead.