Hyougen

My mirror cage reflective deceptive distortions galore A theatre, a circus of smoke and mirrors and lies clouding my eyes with these dreams and hopes and cries of could've-beens should've-beens that cannot be torn asunder and I wonder which reflection was mine clowns and jesters and fools fairytales and fairy dust children's daydreams that cannot come true-- but I broke it my slowly revolving singing and sighing merry-go-round of mirrors and the truth, to my horror, wasn't there had never been and never would be No more mirrors to show me myself as the world thought I would be fit into a mould of my shape of my size of my gender expec

I made us lunch, as always. Your favourite foods and a little dessert. I brewed a pot of tea and did the dishes. We breathed in the scent, eucalyptus and ginger, and watched the trees outside, thin branches bending and bowing in the breeze. I left the window open to catch a drift of the cool air of early spring. Distant chirping from the tree tops sneaked in with it. We settled down for your customary afternoon nap, bundled up under blankets in pale sunlight, your head on my shoulder. The first green buds appeared today. An errant bird stopped by to sit on the windowsill, warmed by the air we exchanged for fres

Crush the serpent's skull and make a cradle for the dust-light seeds of the heart. There is no one right way to love yourself or another - just fragments of truth, sharp-edged and frail. One day - will it be today? - you will gouge out my heavy heart, pull it out with hooks and needles and in your delightful ignorance, try and remove the ache of life with a bright purple plastic butter knife.

Time after time my throat choked on the words and my lips jumbled those that escaped. In my mind they played over and over, unable to decide whether they were too mundane or too pretentious. After twelve hours they were still unsaid and so they remained.

The great glistening city spread beyond the bridge, its reflection broken by tiny gusts of wind on the water. We explored all the hidden groves on the island, we skittered from rock to rock and left the bustling crowd behind. Two little adventurers returning to childhood.

I tasted coffee and chocolate and sipped the last, lingering hint of mint and whipped cream from her lips. We melted and merged for a moment, the last-minute moisture from that sinfully soft drink touching our tongues. Since then she would always order a cup of mint cappuccino with whipped cream,        and I'm not about to complain.

Her eyes a trepid grey, green-flecked, shedding tears in the sand, a meteor shower on an unsuspecting soil. Snow-tainted dainty feet,        silhouettes against        brush-strokes of cloud, painted        upon a broken sky. A gliding screen of jade water wreaths embraces ancient oars,        a dew droplet        on her rhododendron lips        swiftly licked away. Casualties in an all-consuming insignia war we falter and fall        but the raspberry bruises remain.

Seeping down the water vein, a worn-out spring travels, looking for a last-time sleeping-place and leaves in her wake her offspring. A field of singing reed whistles a farewell tune, withers, and is quiet once more. Down from the pale sky a long-sought rain falls, drips from the edges of sleep and traps dust from the aether. Quiet puffs and gasps sound from the skies, yet pass by unheard as clouds migrate.

I left a kiss to rest on his shoulder and him by the melting river, where fish of iron and steel swim, slick, side by side to fish of flesh. I left, wrapped in a skin not my own, dried and smoky, curling around my fingers and crying tears of tea and dust. I arrived to the shore at the time of the monsoon, a salty breath for a welcome, a hermit crab drunk on life and a sour purple jellyfish. I breathed in the ocean air, sucked in salt water and swam away as the stars burned out.