The swollen sun sinks,
behind seedy streets,
raspberry, rose and lychee,
the city’s a kombucha drink
battling B-12 deficiency, and
I am the ghost enjoying
endless escalator rides,
the smell of something fried,
a sacrifice I cannot eat,
mushroom and sweet chili.
Guardian spirits appeased,
I splash and squish
white dollop clouds
above macchiato buildings
made by slow drip.
In Bangkok, we have patience,
a shiver and quick end
on spotted sheets
having hardly spoken all week,
we toast our jai yen
with warm beer in glass,
waving nine incense sticks
before a yuzu bubble bath
and a good night sniff kiss.
Honeyglaze “Ghost”
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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