Melani Grace Tiongson

My label reads:
“Volatile.”

And I’m adorned
with cautionary tape and
stickers warning of
“Explosive Contents Inside.”

Handle me with care in transit and
Do not leave me unattended.

Keep me at room temp–
and even then
you’re still not safe.

On second thought,
This purchase is unwise.

But you didn’t know, did you?

So–
I’m sorry.

(I’m a parcel that can’t be returned.)

we played tag at twenty-two
faces facing and knees
bracing for the next attack

we shared breaths
not of heated passion but
of complete exhaustion, and
like clocks ticking, kept time
to the end of our days

we wanted to clasp hands,
brush cheeks, inch closer
and closer and closer
but in a field we shared with others
we had to settle for a play date and tag

she doesn’t speak in words
so I listen to her touches
pique my ears to her gentle strokes
I watch her eyes alight
in pastel hues
splats of character
on an otherwise empty slate

she doesn’t speak in words
but her presence overwhelms the room
she is deep sea green, light lavender,
maroon
she is licks of ember, sleuth-like sap
all the colors you could ever know
all the colors you could ever imagine

she doesn’t speak in words
she is beyond phonemes, grammar,
punctuation
she lives beyond the borders
of semantic comprehension
her home a thicket untamed

she doesn’t speak in words
there is no map to follow
just the droplets I listen for
just the feints that linger

we made the universe
we strung together worlds typeset in cursive
we connected continents with letterhead
we clattered keys on boards and reset
our processors at the dawn of each new thought
we made the universe
we skated
passed pages
chased conclusions
reached ends we
turned to beginnings
we made the universe