Jaden Fong

Published in Transcendence

1st Place Winner for “Loving”

I am outside of your door,

bouquet of flowers in hand,

plucking porcelain petals.

They love me, they love me

not. My fingers are bleeding

nectar, cherry juice racing

down the ceramic stamen,

along the terracotta stem. 

I am a gnat flying too close

to a puddle of sweet red wine;

I am a moth slowly dangling

from cobweb gallows. 

I am content with being

fossilized in that drink, 

with being laid to rest

in that scarlet tar. I am joyous 

at the thought of hanging

onto you, onto every word

that carefully escapes from

your hungering mouth.