Helen Jun

drunk, on the breeze that carries peaches— your breath

lingers, a fingertip of fuzz on my skin

I close my eyes. I hear a strum of guitar, Gentility

punctuated by the plink of wire strings:

adulterated paradise.

you, the wave of a waning leaf

tossed by every capricious turn of the wind,

whirled by restless desires. and yet—

if you left, I would stay. beside the river that flows by the bank of Life

I will be the tree with deep roots

smelling ever so faintly of