imagine her body in welsh. it reads like a field
hidden by the aquarids above, painting a position
inches between the spheres of leamington and
I-speak-as-much-chinese-as-you-do, which is
to say none, which is to insist upon our equal
 
defects, nightwaves on thighs and thoughts.
the landscape talks in hushes, so imprecise
in its ivory anger and our indecencies, some
distance from the wildfires that talk in tongues
about the problem of a befouled white woman
 
swallowing the other. this is where the insides
of minds are erased, on godgiven freckles that
are surprisingly smooth to touch, and a willow
hand through my black lalang hair, before the
desperate griphold, at last two desires at ease.