A Binondo Dream
To whom it may concern:
I'm writing to tell you about a dream I had.
October Ist, year of the water Rabbit
A fleeting moment in time, more dozing between the sheets
At times staring at each other's souls,
Less walking and going places unfamiliar and unknown
We said we'd go to Chinatown and explore the city after dark.
(Then I'd be able to tell her, this looks like something out of Wong Kar Wai's universe)
But we ended up watching our own intimate movies, all skins and teeth and lacy stockings,
Gazing at psychedelic films and musical erotica,
feral women and gay vampires
Reveling in music and crying over lost loves and memories past
Devoting ourselves to what we have while worshipping what could have been
Strutting and giggling over this world's joke of lines and boundaries.
I'm an earthling and she's otherworldly
Pink brows, purple lips, blue lashes
With mouth that speaks in sour-candied tongues
As she sings sweet oracles to mushrooms and bunnies.
We did everything and nothing.
I woke up to soft giggles and scent of lychee and milk,
But all that's left was a butterfly over my battle scars, sketched in blood ink.
M.