Kim Dang Poems

Moist knees kicking under flowing sheets
Ruffling the dull sound of flapping material against our own wind
My long hair gently parted amongst searching fingertips
Fragile trembles reassured with a firmness like ivy observant
...

You are committed out of fear, as to
not suffer the rage of the abandoned.
And those streams that befall you, your eyes
they cannot lie to me despite how frequently such
...

My gaze guides me past this window,
however strong the sunlight reminds me of its tainted sills,
like burning lime juice on dry parchment to reveal those hidden messages.
...

those cautious glances, eyebrows arched to form a slight hill of your T zone, your aptly rated suggestions, the whispered sweet somethings reaching out to me like how your fingertips reach out to me. It's like I'm scooting to the other end of the backseat and you can hear my recovered slacks rubbing against the now, moist leather covers of this car. Staring upwards out the fogged up passenger window pane into the slightly lit sky only to cast my lashes downwards at the awkward posture I've reassembled my limbs to form, I'm already thinking about what dawn might bring. The logistics that rule me, web statistics, accounting numbers, hours of running head on coupled from hours of running away, hours that I pass and the hours that mercilessly pass me by.

Watching where my heels land, I'm stepping out, feeling the indefinite brisk of the air - it feels all too familiar by now. Thank you, for letting me be Goldilocks for this moment in my make believe and spoiling me with my just-right porridge. Saving me from the short-sighted highs the hot porridge demands of me. Saving me from the oddly idealistic behavior the nonchalant porridge expects of me. I'm taken to somewhere in between where I've seemed to more or less retired from succumbing to rides that beckoned me to take a try. I've said no thanks to my roller coasters and conveniently I'm on cruise control, coasting along. I'll admit it, it's wonderful.
...

Let's pretend for a moment, let's hold hands
Grasp the soft of my palm
no no, not the curve of my nape
Put your arms around my shoulders
...

and we put up these barracades/these fences
to let no one in when our defenses
are clouding our senses
our minds are telling us to go
...

I want to be engaged!

I want to feel the sweat again that lies
...

Soft motions of this pendulum reminds me of
pacing piano keys, strings touched to create a different frequency
let me hear this lull, this song, to the nth harmony
...

I've turned around and I've lost it.
As if you've turned around and all
I can catch a glimpse of are the last strands of
your auburn hair.
...

difficult, for the strands on the back of my neck to

stand up.

make it hard for me not to erupt.

keep me touring with infrequent stop signs

...