Mahuika as a boy

he turns his face away from mine; 
a can of cold drink 

on a cold night. we sit 
in the quiet of waiting, 

waiting for takeaways, 
salt crystals forming 

in the night's every crevice 
like many evaporated sweat beads; 

skin anywhere you look for it. 
his lips close in 

on the lip of the can. 
i cannot be with; 

i cannot be without. 
even in sleep's black wealth,
even in a dream, red with frost— 
your mouth,
your lips, your nose, 
your hands, aflame, covering them.

Featured photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash.


In a dream, you saw a way to survive, and you were filled with joy.


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