Your thumb sinks into the clementine
And a sparkling
Fills the room.
But even the clementine pales
Before your braid
Of henna, mahogany, and rufous.
And your face is the citrus moon
That climbs over warm fortresses
And the ravine
Of secret provinces. I am their sad
Nomadic thief. It is springtime,
And I walk in the rain
As the wind claws me.
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.