When the frangipani taints the air with its haunting, lonely, loveliness,
I wrap myself in its rot of tautologies, how I am either longing for the girl it belonged to or I am not,
think about making the drive up to Kintamani, to lay my head down below the sacred Trunyan Tree.
Because what wholeness can hold you better than a phantom in bloom, an island away
from ancestors whose thousands of copulations culminated in a face that continues to miss you
so– a face that knows the iPhone, that remains leagues away from Java and
the poor girls who practically inhale niacinamide to look like me. When all I’ve ever wanted
was to look like you, freckled from the Flores sun and at home disappearing into the rich, green undergrowth.
Swann K.A Lee (he/she) is a writer of mixed Southeast Asian descent currently studying English Language & Literature at Hong Kong Baptist University. His work has been published in fifth wheel press, Wet Love Zine, and Where Else: A Hong Kong Anthology under Verve Poetry Press. You can find him on Instagram, Substack, and other platforms at @swannscribe.