where wall meets ceiling,
held by a stubborn pinprick,
they wait.

 warmth to pinch between fingers
and press onto lips
for reassurance.

shall i practice a defence of
plugging the lights in to see,
or to show you my blindness?

some days the voltage of vanity
chars my skin but sparks
a blink of light at the center of my eye.

can pinpricked plaster hold
us while we try
to untangle
when we learned what not to


Posted by:jasmine

Jasmine is an editor, poet, and community arts organizer. She comes to poetry by way of Chinese music. This blog is a mapping of ways.

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