a woman waits for me
to angle me in such a posture
it clears the brain, mind from
blotches, obstructions
oiling them for prime functions
flight between the planets
decipher the lines of einstein,
plato, picasso, van gogh
i find the extra mental space for poem
between the seams of her wear
delicate corners, curves that set the brain
on a different dimension
your voice, your hair, legs, bossom
a design to spearhead me
a rocket waiting to be launched
by your softness, scent, voice, gestures
my crystalised selves that come in jets and spurts
john tiong chunghoo
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