cathedral city

after camera obscura / for h.

two rewinds back in a cassette
we found ourselves top
of the town. me, in suede, you
suede soporific. the air electric as if
drugged on lust, complementing
overgrowth and
everyday curbside grime.


the radio plays nothing and
we are in an old-money hotel
where the money no longer is.
our bruises run carmine in storms
against porcelain, as we count
our wounds – one on my chin
another against my thigh. the other
beneath your bones and i
remain sorry.

we sit by the window and
we learn to unravel cities and
we learn to break the world’s
skyline. we run rosé on our cuts and
we learn to see ourselves again.


we unlearn going
from lethal to fetal.

Benedicta J. Foo writes about lonely people and lonely places. Her work has been published in a number of Southeast Asian literary journals and anthologies; it has also won at the National Poetry Competition in Singapore.

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