fishnet stockings, denim skirt,
checkered shirt and an enthusiastic smile
wherever she goes she takes a fun house with her
others are living the life
she is life itself
on a park bench we lazed about to share
vino rosso e formaggio
watching the blanket of flying foxes take off
to forage for food at dusk
she converted me to a Sydneysider
time passed
memory faded
we met
we played
we dated
we parted
never fought
never clashed
never debated
never communicated
no sad goodbyes
no turning back
no once more
no foever ever
time passes
memory blurs
calabash
your pale beauty
hidden in a luscious emerald screen
your smooth ivory skin reflected off
the cobra blue moonlight
I run my warm fingers on your valley curves
along your spine as celo playing hauntingly
monsoon rain moistens my tongue
feeding the starvation in me
my hunger eyes and barren lips
no longer self contained
charging unshackled to shake you
off the cord
my memory of school holidays
are of the farm life
the rooster crowed at daybreak on roof top
careless with the chimney smoke
the forest green tea plantations
dazzled in the spring rain
early summer crickets sang
amidst the bamboo bushes
village children’s twinkling eyes
fixed on pebble stones roast chestnuts
burning charcoals snuggled in the terracotta bowl
covered by a hand knitted bamboo basket
the card games and craft
under the kerosene lamps
firewood smoke and wet soil smells
connected me to my childhood
through the time tunnel
decorated with fireflies
My Honeycomb!
Do you know
you are meant to
be empty and lonely
for I was born to
come and fill you
with sweetness in
every hollow room.
We drip of
wealth and riches
overflow with harvest
cacoon in our happy home.
Oh my sweet sweet Honeycomb!
I ran this marathon
with the intention of
completion in triumph.
I realised in midway
that was only
an aspirational goal.
I had no choice but
downgraded it to
successful completion
with torlerable suffering
of sprains and strains.
I was a wilted desert lily
so detrimentally dehydrated
yet was afraid of hyponatremia.
My greatest concern though
is the likelihood of
revitalisation after
a cardia arrest.
I love mimosa pudica for her sensitivity
which often mistaken for shyness
she is truly the sleeping beauty
undisturbed in the depth of the night
stretching open to the first morning ray
her distinctive memory of my touch
earned my loyalty to watch her intently
makes her a seductress
has me wrapped around her little finger
playing touch-me-not
Flicker of Thoughts 