In March sun shines and raindrops sprinkle,

freckling the pavement grey and black,

falling softly on my lips like spare, gentle kisses.

I am too warm in my winter coat but,

tricked by the cloudless sky, I have no umbrella.

In March mosquitoes are reborn, and so my flesh.  

A row of red bumps.

You learn many lessons on an island,

such as: don’t fall asleep after eating pineapples.

The juice, so sweet, seeps into your skin.

When you awake, your hands are angry red,

a thousand tiny bites swelling.

“I’m never bitten anymore.

They love the foreign blood here,”  

a  Taiwanese girl once told me.

Etemology of Love

愛 

the hand

bears the covered heart

and lays it at your feet

I love you

and my most precious organ

is yours

Read More