Shelley Wong

My heart sleeps, while light lies in its envelope.

If I startle, I dig into my retreat. I mean:

I choose myself. Some can only love once.

How true will it be? I love sequins

but get the sequence confused. To once love,

I found my dearest friend, so now

every face grows stranger. Stranger, speak to me,

like light through a veil. Like a spent match,

she turns to look for me and I fade

at what’s unsaid. A sequoia has every vowel.

Every vow like a closed hand. When I’ve worn

my body down from dancing, I still point

to the sky. I will honor my body, my only.

My only body, its honor, my will.


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