Lovers in March
spent in each other’s arms.
The Sun glistens the newly-emerged sweat-beads.
The cold north Breeze
kisses their perspiration dry,
and yet they lie
with a will to perspire more.
Words are not spoken in numbers great,
neither of the two fret,
but at each other’s sealed lips they plant
must their hands entangle or caress each other?
Art by Jian Wei Shen