Tonight like every other night to come
you will stay awake thinking of home;
home—is it a land or mewling thighs?

Just like phone sex between fantasists
distance is a confession of your wishes

and space has dragged itself into fame

You are a durian—a metaphor
and your thorns are not forever
tomorrow could taste like heaven

just leave your fears to cover their mouth
leave hope to stick its nose in your business

keep your mind open to popular wisdom:
the only smell of distrust between
a country and a citizen is exile.

Photo: Karen

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