Shophouses
It’s been 12 years since
shophouses, getting lost,
East Singapore, the smell of youth,
a shared breath, clumsily leaning for a kiss
- I’m glad it was you
who held this hand when we meld into the dark.
Isn’t it funny that city grids don’t help with navigation?
Or that street lights only masks the moon?
On the pavement we stopped,
waiting for a bus
(towards the centre of the universe, or perhaps home?)
becoming whole, if only for a moment
like the union between
the hummingbird and the flower when they kiss.