her thin porcelain arms are draped
around your chocolate suit, flowers
in her hair. her face betrays a smile,
as subtle as the aroma of jasmine tea,
as she glances over your shoulder
at the well-wishers to your right.
you hold the small of her back,
like an egg that might hatch,
your downcast face towards the
steps you must take. the path
is strewn with rice and small children.
you hold the image close in your mind,
lest it grow brown with age
like the tan of your creases
have grown heavy with remembering.


About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

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