First snow, reading lizard in the red chamber, is making love to me.
Is the moleskine daily diary for butterflies? A day is always another word, or
You came here to create me. In chalk.
AT A TYPICALLY UNCLEAN LONDON TRAIN STATION: Tiny mushrooms grow / Hoo / of my ring binder book.
Love means love you. Not really.
My fingers tell me to smile. We are savages, you quite understand!
Other bad habits: Check if I am arousing. Pretending to make phone calls. The wind is southerly and I am sad.
Books – long for; Cloudberry flower; Homeward; Ice--first meeting with, white
reflection from; Moons!
Jargon, n. 1: The art of London spread out in the commonplace.
Perceptible eyes would probably see my blueberry pancakes. That someone is Chinese.
You emerge at six in print, twittering.
AT ANOTHER RANDOM TRAIN STATION: desire can be cultivated with the right kind of new year.
Thank you for breakfast and sharing my very own copy of the furious noon.
I saw the sink: Last night street hawkers sold hot mangoes, lizards and moons. Did you buy some grapes?
Now, the code, or perfume. Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock. Coffee-stained mad!
Marginalia, underlining – tell me about John Dryden. What can you find in a life of used books?
Glorious London. Even the moles on my legs sing. I'm not the code, or uncut diamonds. Are you really hard already?
Yes, I might even blossom, invisibly. No woman loves sitting alone or clearing your rooms. You are addicted to my favorite dresses and that audio book?
I behold, upon the Window onto the Humanities: How should I write this, write the
And I would challenge the untranslatable Virtuous Woman I cannot be.
I said: My beau is Spring. OUTDOORS. We can totally hear Henry James.
Watching my favorite dresses change the direction of the wind. May is in my flesh, or is it merely tattooed?
This is making me premier: Unexpected themes and strawberry muffins. And I find myself cut into a phone. I have the end of the morning. My poem is based on a London song.
You are now published. You can be made into a black miniskirt.
Tammy Ho Lai-Ming is a Hong Kong-born writer currently based in London, UK. She is a founding co-editor of Cha: An Asian Literary Journal. More at www.sighming.com.