Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

A poetry collection inconsolable of its particular homosexual aching and desire, Crush grinds words into a cup of caffeine-infused affection. Whilst it also traverses realisations and remembrances throughout the complications of same sex attraction, it is insatiably hungry for love and the many faces it dons. It ravages it with kisses until it's bruised. It leaves. It comes back. And there is a cyclic element amongst the relationship/s this collection macerates into nimble physical proclamations. At times sweet, on other times bitter, much bland on others and unfortunately never a perfect cup, there is an interesting touch of tenderness in the corners of its coarseness. But similar to any caffeinated drink, if taken in excess, Crush palpitates into a ramble of overlapping emotions, eroticism, and words with only nearly achieving any kind of infectious poetic vibrancy it probably aims for. It is fairly lovely but can feel overtly long-winded and repetitive. Two poems are added to my favourites nevertheless: and .

Excerpts from some poems I really liked:
"Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we’ll never get used to it."
� from Scheherazade

"History repeats itself. Somebody says this.
History throws its shadow over the beginning, over the desktop,
over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters.
History is a little man in a brown suit
trying to define a room he is outside of.
I know history. There are many names in history
but none of them are ours."
� from Little Beast

"You wanted happiness, I can’t blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
but tell me
you love this, tell me you’re not miserable."
� from Seaside Improvisation