your hands have never felt skin
that thinks on its own; he intended
to trick time, untick the clock, put
his clavicle on your lips
and you knew.
when he reddened your neck
by tracing its shape as if to pin
a map for a land to conquer,
you quivered. A flag waved,
then slowly he entered
with both a vow for something
and a doubt somewhere—
what’s missing and found,
no one knew.
so you stared at the blank wall
as he did, spaced by warm sheets,
wounded alone. Smokes warped
and pried of what’s next.
but who knew?
Lorhenz Lacsa is a Filipino writer and poet. With backgrounds in Psychology and Journalism, his works ultimately focus on the human conditions and social issues. He works as an office guy when he’s not bleeding his hands off writing. He’s a little monster.