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February

 

 

 

the scent of honey in the room
how sweet it smells
the scent of last February
when honey suddenly leaked faster than lightning
permeated my pleura
hushed my lungs,
filled both to the brim of its sweetness
until today

until today
I realise that the scent comes from inside my nose, clammy, sticking to me,
nesting there forever
even when one who passed through
carried along the breath, the nourishment, the air, the ecstatic nature of sensation, the meanings of madness, all that are real, or yet to have names
yet to have names
having no name
could not be named
names that could not be called aloud
because they cannot be pronounced

hence

words are for smelling the sweetness only
not to sound,
to be absorbed into our body
nothing else

words
obfuscate themselves,
real
but not be seen, ever

February

last

honey began clinging to words
I licked as I lick them
everyday
moving my tongue I taste familiar words, wetting my lips I smother lovable  words, closing  my mouth I draw on intimate words, swallowing hard I starve on cherished words, regurgitating – I kiss words, as used as they are
I reingest words, as used as they are

still can’t make them less sweet
can’t make them less sweet
can’t make them less sweet

no matter how
I shred them, starve them, crave them, devour them, desire them, save them
lock them, hide them, seduce them, grind them, swallow them

I have no way to make them less sweet
I have no way to make them less sweet
I have no way to make them less sweet

 
oc, 4 Feb, 2010 – 2h05

 

(19/2/2010 translation by NDN)

 

 

 

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bài đã đăng của Đặng Thơ Thơ