top of page

lessons from limerence
BY JASON CHEN '24

nothing surrenders itself to me anymore 

i’ve learned to chase. quips / licks / quick wit 

the already-gone sunset i wish were still 

waving to me / that silly shake / the steps 

you take you make me want to fit inside 

you better. 

  

i like the weather even when it strives 

to make me hate it. but numbers 

on my calendar sink deep into this silence 

when you frown and slump and sigh and why  

do you never smile when i’m trying  

to hold you from the inside out? seconds 

swimming through the clock / one more 

flooding piano. 

  

can’t be easy to crawl through  

my neurons / must feel guilty  

for being someone’s drug / not so  

lovely when your smile is my hit 

and so we must be friends or i might 

never greet my door again. let me 

bring the scissors if our pieces do not fit 

we’ll be Siamese / conjoin our lips. 

  

you separated joy from both the corners 

of my mouth. now i just face you and erase 

reason / race a fantasy to my bedroom 

how all your words must be spilling 

from a brimming dam / spelling 

vocabulary i have not learned yet 

i bet it means i love you but i don’t 

want to / you would smile a lot less 

in my arms. 

  

you’re a spinner so you made me 

lean for you. i might tip / sway / keel 

and then what? 

ART BY ISABELLA WANG '24

Screenshot 2024-05-22 at 12.23.18 AM.png
bottom of page