Dear Mr Lam

I take my vows inside
the malady of light

promise to wed
this zonal country

of fibrous
jungle

where tradition
comes inflamed.

An itchy lover
turns in a cone

of blue.
O

observe
my little

symptom
an agitated

thought
flung from

tree to tree.
When I hoard

memories on the run
they multiply

see ‘em blush
seep out along

the greened seam
where you stitched

two dreams together
to make a hole.

Mr Lam you paint
the perfect stage!

A clutch of arms,
a blooming sugar

cage, crockpot of toes,
a healthy-looking blade.