Mister (아저씨)

that mister won’t leave my head,
like the taste
of good coffee brewed
in the afternoon, he is smoking up
my mind like gray, snowy days
in the cold subway,
true gentleman
sending me off properly,
his sleight frame coming
from somewhere I
might not return,
as I slid down the streets
of Incheon, I saw
my own reflection in the ice,
little frozen rivers
spilling from fish tanks,
where the trapped squid
protests, his tentacles
stuck to the glass,
when your eyes grew wide and
you swore you’d
see me more, I wondered
like I have before
if his hands
knew their way to mine,
mystically, like the air
around him seemed to
make me drunk, starry eyed
that day in the sunlight,
pasty smell of
wet paint and cold stone,
in the past I could see
his body next to me
and never did I take myself
this seriously, the
unnattainable
is our greatest temptation
we shut ourselves down
and block it out,
regardless of the reason
winter is a bad season,
love under blankets and
wrapped up in sweaters,
a dangling lure
on a wire
he’s never said his desire,
might be the same as mine
but I think I saw it
that day
in his warm brown eyes,
or perhaps his embrace
less careful than before,
smelling of his newest
risky behavior,
he won’t get out of my mind.

Technically cheating because I wrote it yesterday, but meh. I think if I hadn’t written it yesterday I would’ve written it today, and I’ll double up today probably anyway because I have an idea in my mind I need to get out. 

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Dismal

Deep forest green are the trees,
their backdrop the gray

Jeju skies of winter,
we fly
down a mountain road, it
reminds me of that time
I broke through
the clouds
sleeping over the island,
but I could still see
Mt. Halla,
“jejune” sounds like
Jeju, and it echoes my past
of naive happiness
as if I were screaming
into a canyon,
but instead of returning
my voice just keeps travelling
on and on and lost forever,
a song repeats
in my head, it tastes
like cigarette smoke,
car exhaust, and
fried red bean bread,
steaming warm
in my gloved hands,
bought in a grimy subway station
in old Seoul,
the young man
who is singing, he knows
the dreary days I
keep seeing, he feels
this lukewarm winter,
loneliness
painting the landscape
a dull pallet
of breathtaking wonders
gone cold, and
old joys made
lifeless.
I wrote this about winter in Jeju, and the depressed feelings I experienced during my winter here. One of the things that made me feel better during that time was Kim Namjoon’s mixtape, as I felt like he understood what I was going through. I wanted to capture that experience for a long time, but I couldn’t really write until I started feeling better.