kayumanggi is brown <br />you may not have noticed <br />the name of this busy <br />spot, tucked in a corner <br />where goodbyes <br />are as warm as the coffee <br />or as cold as the drinks <br /> we are in-between: <br />clenching teeth <br />we have began the journey <br />of distancing <br />lest we lost ourselves <br />in the fire that burns <br />the selves <br /> <br />we speak of half-truths <br />the possibility of half-lies <br />the need to protect pain <br />how many times have we confronted <br />hearts that do not lie? <br />are they merely the thighs <br />or the hands that groped <br />for the substance of our beings? <br />or is it something that <br />made these connections <br />possible, as in breathing <br />so natural? <br />we read each other: <br />through the gentle pull of <br />your small fingers <br />intertwined into mine <br />in an instinct of survival <br />we are drowning into each other: <br />your touch echoes those days <br />those sleepless nights <br />i teased you a lot: <br />the bag lady who charms <br />limping sophistication <br />the eight-hour woman <br />whose need to dream <br />will have to begin with earplugs <br /> <br /> hundreds of stories <br /> have passed this table <br /> we are no different <br /> <br />we speak, slowly <br />measuring words <br />that can be taken away <br />into the cabin of memories <br /> <br />closures are also openings <br />and what we close merely <br />lead us into paths unknown <br />i take risk, you enjoy the adventure <br />in between this kinship <br />are women-travelers searching <br />for new meanings, new ways <br />of loving and living: <br />the uncommonness of the common <br />the grand vision of an ordinary <br />feeling like what we have <br /> <br /> we do not have words for them <br /> what we have, have been perfected <br /> by the commonness of words <br /> so we construct <br /> but as quickly, we dismantle them <br /> <br />i suppose we are here for closures <br />the styrofoam cup <br />is hardly a romantic way <br />to drink our last<br /><br />Aida Santos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/international-airport/
