the smell of lime
and onions
in the bright dense
humid
sweating saigon day
the taste of sprouds
the dark iced café,
making me tremble,
in the small tin
police yard
the co twong
played sitting on the cement floor
dirty feet
fingernails
a war
somewhere
inside
most of the times you can only see the eyes of
the bike riders
passing over the
surviving french buildings
that look like old botannical gardens
decaying
something is really spicy
but i don't know what it is
something made me think about you
but i don't know what it is
