she was
the bonfire
flushed his cheeks
toasted warm
in the cold nights
of all the wasted youth
too stoned
to recollect all the laughs
only her cherry lips
stained on
his pea sized remain

over the years
he has searched for
the same sensation
of her dim heat
caressing his shyness
to blossom
he lost the words
to write her
into his poetry

there are memories
he cannot articulate
he cannot shake
he can only
let them be
guity of
being young
and naive

The Two Loves

This poem is inspired by one of my favourite duet songs. It is about the internal struggle of two women who love the same man.

I can’t help to fall in love with you.
The burst of sweetness infuses the romantic air.
My every breath is shared with you in synchronised melody.
My heart is overflowing with ecstatic happiness.
My love! Keep suffocating me with unending passion.
Don’t leave a moment allowing me to think of your other love.
Because I am unable to detach myself from your syrup bubbles.

My love!
We’ve been always honest and in oneness.
I wish that wasn’t the case when I read your confession of new infatuated romance.
My heart died in the hand of your arson.
You left me wonder should I quit loving us.
There is a new chapter written in our story without my consent.
Should I keep reading to the end or set it on fire as revenge?
Tell me, my love!

Those Days – Stella Chang & Coco Fan

The Becoming of Storm

You have been exceedingly silent
for the whole Summer
I am not sure why
but you really scare me
I have tiptoed around you
just to keep the peace
And yet the awkwardness is so apparent
even the blowfish in the tank
gives me that ‘You are in trouble, lady!’ look

Falling asleep has become
more and more labouring
Those rolling grunts is fast approaching
I am trying to meditate it away
but my heartbeat betrays me
by increasing frantic waves of convulsion

I am violently woken in pain
induced by the whipping
of holy thorns
on my vulnerable flesh
my blood is lightning silver
perfect for the charging storm

Wordsmith Apprentices

A collaboration with Benjamin Grossman

This daily script interferes
with any royal mood
leaving abstract smiles
upon the observer’s space

Each piece reaches the other
with startling ponder
shaking up their normality
signaling the writer’s psyche
demanding a daily dose of encouragement

The bond sparked small
a distant curiosity sated by the choreography of words
a budding denial received confirmation in plain sight
an uncultivated heart given wings to ascend
an untamed mind flew over the boundary beyond the intellectual elasticity

Disturbing Event

That Summer was so hot.
Grass in the backyard choked
our footsteps.

Lying in bed next to you,
the loud crickets relentlessly
held me off of sleep.

I remembered
the panic in your voice,
‘Did you hear that?
They are coming for us.
Stay still!
They won’t find us.’
You struggled with the locust plague.
We hid underneath the blanket
on a 30 degree night.

Your panic
and the cricket midnight party
went on and on.
My brain shut down
and I slumbered into sleep.

‘Did you smell that?
They are cooking opium again
next door.’
The smell of smoke
stang my eyes to wake.

I sprang up from bed
to rush out to the garden.
The backyard was like
an abandoned camp site
in the daybreak.

You went in the ambulance
laughing in exhilaration,
‘I burned the fuckers.
Don’t you fucking mess with me.
No fucking plague under my watch.
I’m gonna get you,
you piece of shit
opium dealer,
fucking neighbour.’

That’s how that hot summer ended.

Photograph of painting of a man by Aarón Blanco Tejedor

Always with me

I wanted to write
something romantic
on Valentine’s Day

The performance pressure
ate up
my little brain

I wrote nothing
for you
needlessly to say

I thought to myself today
what is the one thing
to give up
that I will hate

and caffeine

Then it daunted
on me
you are
my coffee keep cup
who accompanies me
from the moment I wake
to the moment
I close the curtain of
the daily play

It’s Too Late to Apologise

Your apology came so late,
after I managed to swim
to shore
to escape drowning.

I used to plead with you
“I am drowning.
Move your hand aside
so my head
can stay above the water
just a bit.”

I was sure that
you heard me,
although I was quiet.
I thought
we spoke
a common language.

I fought every day
to save my breath
to fight another day.
I sank into
darker and darker places
where I slumbered by day
and slept by night.

In having lost
all consciousness,
you no longer
had a grip
on me.
That’s when
I started
to float,
then swam
away from you
to safety.


fashion photography of woman hands on chin with glitter makeup
Photo by 3Motional Studio on