Something celebrative or immortal under another birdless sky

You once yelled I was so rude
as I pulled your right sock
off regardless of how much
work done to clear up
my floor once scattered
with broken glass
from an ill-formed jar
holding my calculated hopes
You once praised the way
I lifted you in that
cellar-like guestroom where
secrets were fed into the
gaps between the bible cupboards
You once worded in your dreams
as I left my clothing next to you
and climbed down to the carpet
drowned in your rustling
against the clean sheet as I
milked myself muted
to confirm my own existence
The doomed kiss was
still attached to your right
cheek when I realized
how little air was left
between our lips
Your flawless skin
surfaces from the
glowing waters
three drawers away
This afternoon
I pulled off all
your pictures from the books
of my past lives only
to find a single staple
to draw my blood out
A sole metallic leg of
a mosquito was quite
enough to remind me
of the three thousand leaves
to be collaged
Something celebrative or
immortal under another
birdless sky

Dr. Ho Cheung Lee (Peter) resides in Hong Kong, where he teaches and writes. He is the founding editor of BALLOONS Lit. Journal. His poetry/short stories have appeared in Poetry Quarterly, River Poets Journal, Sierra Nevada Review, The Chaffey Review, The Interpreter’s House, The Oddville Press, The Writing Disorder, and elsewhere. His photography/artwork is forthcoming in Rattle (winter 2016) as cover art, *82 Review (Issue 4.4), and Front Porch Review (Jan 2017). More about him can be found at http://www.ho-cheung.com.

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