Ismim Putera

DURIAN BLOSSOMS

When I first met him
he was gathering durian blossoms
in the orchard in Sri Aman
with his left hand
right hand still in Singapore 
feeding his ailing father
a tattoo of three blue-green magpies
nested around his wrist
at noon he sang flowery songs to them
and the birds adorned him 
his right eye glittered 
like an icy comet at dusk
and the whiff of monsoon rain
filled the courtyard as he walked in—
at nightfall  
when he hugged me
we would drench in downpour 
his meaty odour was psychedelic
like a stir-fried honeyed tempoyak
his chest was a block of woody metal  
weighing my ferromagnetic bones down
keruing oil waxed his lips
and behind the disjointed banana leaves
two men kissing quietly like snails—
in the orchard, he erected his thorns
repelling ghosts and ghouls
rattan vines entwined his arms like veins
and he spoke runes of the rainforest
he allowed the star to tan his back
outlining rows of libidinous glyphs
we frolicked on the forest floor like tigers
the trees rained down their blessings  
on us— celebrating our youthfulness
he opened a Musang King single-handedly 
we nibbled the golden flesh—
citrous sweetness rolled into our dreams
our body glowed coppery yellow
coppery yellow