Ayutha Rd, Bangkok
The stale, sticky air escapes in rolls
From this skin-tight town.
You can see it rising like my old blue kite dancing across fields
Of green dotted yellow.
I still see your body,
vivid,
imprinted on mine.
And your creaking shoulderblades naked on my hipbones.
And your morning breath billowing on my pale stomach.
But as I walk alone past fruit carts, old
broken-down camera shops and foreign faces,
I crave your lungs.
From this skin-tight town.
You can see it rising like my old blue kite dancing across fields
Of green dotted yellow.
I still see your body,
vivid,
imprinted on mine.
And your creaking shoulderblades naked on my hipbones.
And your morning breath billowing on my pale stomach.
But as I walk alone past fruit carts, old
broken-down camera shops and foreign faces,
I crave your lungs.
