This is not the only time
I have arrived home to see
a cracked window.
And yet, in another sense,
I have never seen
a crack like this.
It would be trivial and frivolous
to say no two cracks are alike
but it’s true.
Last night, there was a typhoon
in your room, 3.5K away from my home.
A swirling, wet and private phenomenon
created by me and you.
I imagine the earthly intensity of it
has telepathically cracked my window,
But more likely, some drunks
had a fight last night about something
they cannot remember now.
I counted the ways you could kiss me for the first time
as though I were counting sheep.
I counted to twelve, I think. But the memory is hazy.
When I told you this you said:
“Are you using me like sheep? The nerve of you!
You objectify me. That sounds exciting.”
Then you kissed my back, at first gingerly,
as though I was an item in your glass circus.