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Writer's pictureVivien Yap

Here, Here is Paradise



He chose to sit out in the rain

while I wandered into the rinds of a lemon,

dipping my fingers into rinses

from the feeble insides of a soft sun.


Some wetness bit into

spongey openings of a broken rind

and like acid clinging to an epidermis,

I let it soak in me.


I wait for him,

my love stripped back

like sun-kissed lemon skin

but he chooses to forget the unimportant things like

whether or not we kissed

or if his eyes were cloudy when the lemon cut my skin.


We are not ready for a night like this-

drunk, in love and afraid.

Swearing by a pedestal

that we should die before we leave.


He begs me

to come out,

but all I can give him

is an excuse not to be lonely.


Quietly,

the last time I needed him

was the only time I wanted him;

waiting outside my lemon house.

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