"...to dance with you till we're both dead."

long text : shanghai : 9:13 pm

All you have to do

is look back, silly eyes.

--

Child, don't cry. Worse, don't be sorry for me.

The weather in Shanghai is fine these days.

But the capricious south? Have you donned

your winter coat? Have you acquired

seasonal temper? I write for this reason. Sorry

to fuss. The ends will, no doubt, justify

the means. Forgive me, and I know

I know you don't like the space between us.

All that it encompasses, trains, forests, cities, skies, leagues and leagues of empty air.

You think I'm in pain,

so you fold that space, those layers and layers of mist,

and you appear by my side, as neatly as a table-cloth.

But you seem so distant, love.

So faraway.

Even though I know you don't mean

to, I still send these words from Shanghai, hoping that you'll

give me a call, or something like that.

Maybe send back a letter. Yes, a letter, the streaks

ink leave on paper in your unique manner. When I caress that, I'll see you,

and maybe you won't seem like such a projection

anymore.

--

All you have to do

is look back, silly eyes.

You misunderstand me if you think I'd let you alone.

A hasty disappearance, I put on our ring, poof

invisible to all but the holder; yet

it is for you I keep my heart abeat,

my flesh

warm, my eyelashes

fluttering. You've no need to worry

about me. This long winded text is to prove

that I, too, am not

what they say. I am not a weakling.

It is now time to resolve. The loose threads, tied. The dénouement, upcoming.

Not that our story is ending.

No, our summer,

has just begun.