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Spadina Literary Review  —  edition 4 page 02



by Derek Kai-Cham Hung

On our first date,
I wore a papier-mâché suit
made from words cut from the books
of your favourite authors
that said all the right things.

When you saw me you
begged me to take it off
but I knew for a fact
that if you remain undressed for long enough
eventually you will become more than naked.

I try to leave but
you slice through my wafer barricade
with a pair of safety scissors
and out spill
my fumbling aching howls,
the blotches of ugly lust nested under my flesh.

I ask if you are disgusted or afraid
if I am worth the effort
you laugh
spark and brighten
the veins in my cheeks,
leave me peeled
like a dripping fruit.