May 29, 2010

Ian Chung

Les Maudits

Somehow our eyes will meet
over the bobbing heads,
under the strobe lights,
and we will step across
to begin our jointly
transient destiny
with a flute of champagne
for each of us. 'Alone?'
One question: I will be
rhetorically yours,
content to be wanted,
intoxicated by
the power that it brings;
the club will be too big
for this, our pas de deux.
I will be all alone
in this dank meat market,
where the flawless faces
never break down and cry,
where the musclebound gods
never display to you
their atrophied remains
of the only muscle
that matters. Blood will sing
and I will obey it,
feeling your steady pulse
as I kiss your bare neck.
Sex is commodified,
sold as discounted love,
and yet we will be but
two of many willing
buyers gathered tonight
to celebrate the ends
of all such beginnings;
the same old story, made
new each night by its cast.
Then you will take my hand,
leading me out the back
to a cheap apartment
and even cheaper beer,
but I will wait until
you are in the shower
to clutch your tattered shirt
and inhale the scent of
alcohol and regret.


Ian Chung reads English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Warwick, but was born in Singapore, where the name of his course typically earns him skepticism that it is actually a degree.

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