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Tuesday, July 22, 2008


No guilt letting go of a language
when you don't know the calligraphy.
Memory dances amidst splendor and passion
with visual images, attainable or illusory.

What language did we speak? The details
are now conflicting and continue to be
non-compatible with other partnerships.
The language of inexhaustible lust.

The language spoke to and through us. One
leg of yours and my thigh overlapping
on a mattress formed one word, much
like a Korean character done in flesh-

coloured ink on a soft canvas meant for
instant display. We have enough graphic
words, unfading, to fill a dictionary.


words: Tammy Ho, Hong Kong (homepage)
image: Dorothee Lang, Germany (
virtual notes)

("Words" first appeared in Orbis Quarterly International Literary Journal)

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