Tonight, this grassy hill is our becoming. Andromeda calls out to us,
gravity winding round our waists like hands grasping for skin. Tenderness
is found in this blackened void, where we breathe time like it is abundant and
space no longer exists. In this empty vacuum of space,
we are two orbit-less beings. Our intertwined shadows appearing:
emptiness against emptiness. When I ask you about the distance between us
and every stellar being, what I mean to say is you are two steps away from being the sun.
Every exit of yours is flooded with light,
ready to burst like candy between your teeth. I am the moon, your childish
companion, the one always orbiting around you. We are parallel motions, but
I would bend the laws of physics just for a glance because my chasm was moulded
to fit your body: a lock & key. If you asked, I would explode for you.
I would shatter into cosmic glass, embedding myself into the fabric of the universe,
creating a ripping roar through time. I would do all this to be remembered. To know that
the shape of my name never leaves your mouth. Even now, lying beside you on this hill,
I wonder if you notice the brush of my skin against yours.
About the Author
Jessica Tsang is from Hong Kong. Her work is featured or forthcoming in the Jupiter Review, Heritage Review, Blue Marble Review, and more. You can find the more interesting side of her on Twitter @JessicaTsa_g.