Monday, May 20, 2019

Sheikha A. writes

The night is out
from behind moonshine curtains
peering down upon my closed eyes
to crop out dreams and replace
with vivid reminders of us; remade
memories that I shred the mornings
after the night is out to torment
in retribution, tenfold, for daring
to forget this very night I used 
to inveigle you to me. Immured, 
my face has become a canvas
to the colours of your image
etched firmly over mine, 
a second face over my first
tracking trajectories
of our time as ‘together’.
-- Ikehata Yuichi

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