This is the curve of the cheek
that I once explored with kisses.
This is the cave of the mouth
where I once blew in breath
whose wetness I tasted.
This is the hillock of the nose
where I once rubbed my own
on an idle summer day
when we ran through the fields.
These are the wings of the eyelids
that fluttered to life
at my slightest whisper.
These are the pools of the eyes
into which I lost my soul.
Now a distant country, only
half-remembered.
—-
Dominique Cimafranca is a writer teaching Information Technology at the Ateneo de Davao University.