The distance between north and south here
is the same as the distance between my navel and my neck
a direct, short transit that is explicitly harvested with wires
expectations and taboos, locked up like genies for thousands of years
a mere step away through the center- this is the distance northwards
we do not need trains, nor planes but our two feet to get us across
our hands, little fingers and callused palms
there are clash-points at my feet, you are wrapped with your fear
of walking forwards, walking upwards. I have to live with the deprivation of your face
this is too dangerous, these wires but this is our land, you will remind me- I am willing to allow
you reminders. When will you travel northwards? I'll press the question
onto you like a bunch of delayed jasmine flowers waiting on an opening
leave the south with its problems, with its fields, with all of what they call
holy. You do not have pretty eyes, but your mouth is sweet and I'm done with your whispers
grant me serenity by your face in my mirror.
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