Lunar Abecedarian
—Helen Gu
Lunar Abecedarian
After the calamity I have to stop myself from shutting in;
bodies that feel weightless between between the fingertips,
collapsing under the strata. Bodies afloat that will never
die. Here we combust into debris; already we are
ephemeral. Your esoteric breath against my neck, your
fingerprints diamond rings, forever. Here, we can finally see
god. I am a shameless daughter, breaking away from
honor in so many ways; an outspoken daughter. Too many foreign
ideas in my head, but you silence me with just a breath, untumbled
jade against my cracking complexion. The cold warms me and your
kiss is my killer in the dimmer crevices. Tell me what it means to
love. Peel my fragile body till it shines waxen light like the
moon. I, too, have a dark side, only half of me luminous at once. Our
nexus, nebulous in the open air. I write the taxonomy of your touch
on my fingertips and memorize the ridges of your knuckles. Promise our
passion is more than poetry, promise that you will not stay
quiet here. You, stretching my margins, but I will
resile; fill the quiet as I swell. This seraphic movement mustn’t be a
sin; my elegies saturate the silent gaps. Sometimes I forget we will succumb to
time, but not now. Now we are colossal, undefeated,
undulating across the borders. Your breath against my ear, your
voice breeds my vanity. Under the napalm-filled sky we
wander in the dark. Fill me with fresh air in my
xenon-filled lungs. Wake me up over and over until I
yield. Away from the light of the sun our hearts reach their
zenith; above the galaxies, we embrace, witnessing.