“Home Movies”

by Nicolette Koh

I roll a tape, of memories in scene takes:
Stranger in the dark, but no longer in the night
She comes to play drawing across a body canvas
“I am here to stay,” she says.
So gently she sways, the curvature of my ocean wave
Wide ripples of a pool, cold and blue
She made marks, over skin
Porcelain thin.
I have to be brave to embrace,
The permanence she paints
Skin against skin sounds like the clapping wind.

Under thunderous skies, she colors thunder thighs
Rubbing against each other, waves against the ocean bed
Chaffing limbs grow; after spoonful heaped so full.
She is my wary pinch, on growing inch
A burdening weight, this cumbersome canvas struggles to take,
Make up bitter scenes and berating beams.
This day she stays locked, beneath heavy doors
Sprawling herself inside a cutting room floor
I am editing and fixing; can’t let you out to play
Anymore.