Vol. 1, Issue 1, We Fit In Fluid Tangle

by Hon-Wai Wong

Among soaring towers of mineral, I well
In wait for you. I am the canyon’s water.

Slipping off your pareo,
You cup me in your hands and bring me to your face.
I murmur on the silver scallops of your eyelids.
I lick the twisting wisp by your ear.
I nest in the folds of ample lips.

Spiraling down your neck, I persist
Over brown dilations of areolas
And the olives of your nipples.
In your navel I tremble and revolve.

Now, naked, you wade in me and submerge.
I wet your thighs and belly and hair and suddenly,
I lengthen into a web of light that crosses your beating slopes,
Swallowing your body, absorbing, in surrender to you.


Hon-Wai Wong grew up in the valley-city of Ipoh, Malaysia and studied at the Johns Hopkins University. Exploring the body as landscape, Hon-Wai’s poems (will) appear in Random Sample, Bitterzoet Magazine, and The Hopkins Review, among others. Hon-Wai tweets @HonWaiW.