Lotus, your name is written in the language of the stars. You painted the sky with the colour of your smile; it was blood red. I am breathing the ground suffocating in your aura,
the rainbow in the sand, the shorelines of the broken shells, bubblehead bubbling jaunting
gargling amazing sharp shreds jagged edge tangy scent copper tongue
escaping curls touching fingertips. I am so artificial, aren’t I?
Petal modelling—unrelenting, releasing, immigrating. Electricity when our gaze met.
Lotus, your name is written inside my wrist, I carved it yesterday, using shrapnel of our past.
-Auckland, 22 October 2015