[poem] After Ours

A postcard.

Hello, Hong Kong,
I’ve missed you.
You’re still the closest
I’ve gotten to sky.
I was bright, but
you are still brighter;
your words, in black-and-white
glow, our last embers.

I still remember
those long night wanders;
the slight British lilt in your voice.
I loved the young-old world of you,
but in the end, you made your choice. I
turned my back
on The Peak, in the dark.
And our sparks
never met, only flew.

Oh Hong Kong,
I didn’t need to go back.
But the truth is,
I still missed you.


For N., who I could not keep.


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