Lune Loh is a core member of /S@BER, a Singaporean writing collective, and is
currently an Undergraduate at the National University of Singapore. Her works
have been published in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Cordite Poetry Review,
聲韻詩刊 Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, Math Paper Press' SingPoWriMo 2017
& SingPoWriMo 2018, and Squircle Line Press' Anima Methodi anthology. She also
dreams of fully-automated lesbian communal kampungs.
An Empty Barstool is Love
(after Pooja Nansi)
Dreaming on a Barstool: on an infinity
of regression of dreaming barstools; we
in a dream bar / you crafting cocktails for;
we watching Europe go by as art noveau;
two blue ticks consent to a means to an end;
4.00 / morning / bak chor mee / eyelids/lips;
poem for you soaked in vodka & tomorrow;
you opening whiskey an observer effect;
sizes A4 on the rocks, A3 shaken, A2 stirred;
one night, we went to a bar to drink water;
one day, we discovered alcohol to be water;
I woke up in a universe without dreams;
we watched the bartender set twin suns;
being-in-itself & being-for-itself, for myself.
Sleep Paralysis as Lucid Dreaming
The night river reflected you instead of the gibbous.
In the first dream, I didn't understand anything about you.
In the second dream, I didn't understand me.
and during Autumn it was hot and sunny and we wore red lipstick at the same time without each other knowing and i wanted to kiss you but there were many thoughts that didn't happen at the same time there were many scenes that were staged and it was just me sweating and smudging lipstick with tears at my own cue in the event you died and wanted it and
In the first dream I powdered moonsoil on my face and sent you letters that arrived too late. Everything in retrospect is a dream forgotten five minutes after waking. The sheets hugged your body in rigor mortis instead. I woke up every morning dying, thinking of your corpse preserved in makeup.
Your cocktail layers / how I can't drink / liquids immiscible / into each other /our legs failing to melt / spaces that miss / spaces to miss / you straining my second dream / you pouring ice / me on the rocks thinking of sunrise / you rimming salt on my torn lip / how I reserved a second barstool / but you over the counter / I can't drink my second dream / I can't sleep on this river / drowning in your shaker / so cold / so layered / in your evening hours / I drink and miss / and missed
Three times that week,
we ate our bland voices
and I couldn't apologize;
and we never dreamed.
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