moment junkies
By Anna Li Sian

i may not be your last love
but you said i was your first
the first is always best remembered.

we are moment junkies
living for collarbone kissing and jumbled limbs
coarse communication between cheek and chin
I convert physical forms into
four-sided images on tiny screens
in attempts to keep you at my fingertips
even when you're gone

we caught firefly moments
that i pray wont
fade into distant memories,
overwritten by crammed history facts, to-do-lists or new loves,
new phone numbers to mentally store or
new faces to trace with fingertips,
maybe a thicker set of lips, or gyrating hips
you, hand-cartographer of flesh hills and canyons in new worlds
may make many maps of skin surfaces with index and thumb
like a blind poet memorizes Braille sonnets
maybe you'll repeat new couplets—a couple of eyes—
gently read lids and lashes, like Lorca stanzas
to replace old lines like mine,
those that flirt with the sides of my eyes
in Fili-chinky Japanese-cheesy smiles,
lines drawn like fine thread vines

blue movie-screen-lit profiles escape digital cameras
and private smiles are harder to keep than posed ones.
instead i use words as literary post-its
to thicken the wires in your brain
and coat them with my name.
my love poetry forms dime-sized white doughnut stickers
to reinforce our memories' loose-leaf pages
          let us be back-to-back book binds,
held spine to spine
          let us be bound by our minds,
          let me keep you, mine.

© Anna Li Sian