Published by The Santa Clara Review
You said that you were no good
at all of this and gestured
wildly to the air in front of me
as if my breath was
an extension of whatever it was
that you saw ahead of us
and in the space between us. My lips
are numb from the soju
and I can’t feel the words that are
lazily crawling out
of them but I know that they fit. You
tacked on that even if
you were no good at all of this,
that you loved me, and I know
from the concern in your throat
that you meant both.
Jaden Fong 