i wanted mooncakes: that is to say,
round suppleness of skins slipped

around a compact handful dense
with secret origins, thickened

with sugar and the elaborate labor
of bringing what you desire

to fruition. and it is labor, this
pulling, this stretching to curve

a garment around a golden center
without splitting its lip, its crust.

we think it's possible to assign
one word, one character to stamp

like a talisman on the face we wear
before we're fed into the fire.

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