We will live post-colonial love stories
Despite our plane-crash-burnt faces one can see how handsome and authentic we
are
We will listen to post-WW2 straight white male jazzy crooners
Our sadness will testify for our very singularity in the eye of the Other in the
eye of the storm
Vacuum tube radios didn’t speak of the napalmisation of Fallujah
Bodies melting through the essence of love
Our so o so hi-brow western way of fee(l/d)ing
Each tear we pour crying is someone else’s death from thirst