• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 12

First Love

How many times do I need to give you this body
peel layer after layer, shed the clothes to the ground
before you realize that there is no I and the other I under my roof
one with desert and sprinkled with tufts of water jugs, I am the color blue

tinted like a sky in Autumn, washed
not bottled, not peeled, to this destiny to shift
change colors, take in a new paw
maybe a foreign hand can teach me to rhythmically pat my shoulders

maybe not when it scalds, it's not about who touches you
it is about what you reach to touch back

a shoulder before lips upon mine and these eyes
are suddenly brown up close, who claims there is no calamity
with too much coloring? the deepest hues of Tyrian purple
essentially came from a provoked oyster

his eyes are not blue pearls, rather
hazelnut, warm, like mine

you ask why, then, am I a mixture of both
genealogy and germs, a gemstone and a pebble
untamed hair that's long with envy from shortage
of sun and water, add devotion and subtract this faith

Does it matter, really
the direction of prayer, honey?


First Love

you've got the heart of a woman they say
naked, blue and bruised
such hunger and no need to define adjectives
or call name to name the chambers

but do the hearts of men and women differ?
I am half of my twin brother, half heart woman with pride

We share lips first
there's something about memory,
you have to remember your first kiss:
at nine, your lips saying goodbye were blue
both coming at once, rushed, we hadn't learned then
how to open our mouths.