Bob Dornberg © 2007 All Rights Reserved
What else can the lovers do now
but quarrel? The crack in the ceiling.
The pipe still clogged under the sink.
Far better than news of another
lover; the shock of his underwear
under the bed; a pack of condoms.
Sometimes children seal a marriage,
sometimes security. In such homes,
glue may turn to acid, unhappiness
spreading like a maze of cracks
from their feet till death do us part.
Some fights are trampolines
for lucky lovers to a greater height.
The lovers are standing on balconies
like the lovers their parents were,
in war or reconciliation. They lay
in their beds now, falling apart
or toward each other in sleep.
The lullaby of their breath
is a knot tightening,
Cyril Wong lives in Singapore with his partner. He is the author of five poetry collections, including like a seed with its singular purpose (firstfruits, 2006). He is also a countertenor who has performed at the Seoul Fringe Festival and elsewhere.
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