photo credits here, edited.
by tyrina toh
was it the blade of
honey between our fingers,
lapsed amongst soft
cuts and thin
sleeves
that swept us up like
a circular refrain, knuckles clashing
against the constant
backdrop of
irregular typefaces,
dried tea
leaves,
bated breaths?
see, they say people can hear
you if you think of them
hard enough, even if
they’re seven
hours, two
tiles
one thought away
and so i repeat
is this it?
nushpress 
