I’m told a kiss is a biological attraction

of two people partaking in gaseous exchange

normally, it’s similar to a breath lasting 6.4 seconds

with love’s saliva, freshly swallowed

I’m inept at breathing—I forget to breathe now and then

I wheeze so often, the doctor confessed to me

my singlehood is pending drainage. time accumulates

as edema, coalescing into a huge air bubble

gossipy tongues yabber: love is like a balloon

if overinflated or overexerted

lichens will blossom on my lips, supple and green

—you must remember

why don’t you believe that my lips glow

they land perfectly on the lapels of late summer

they can air-dry the pattering rain

lift up the hair tips of youth

stabilise a compressed balloon

I skirt the Playground of First Loves

a pair of small feet facing a pair of big feet

tip-toeing

subtly pouting, in the language of love

talking to summer

(my blushing ears betray me

the air conceals the warmth of your approach)

my ruminations are ironed until scorched

I shouldn’t gaze at them for too long, in case of wet dreams

dwelling silently in my room

I let the crisp morning wake by my left chest

on an empty double bed

the weather, supposedly passionate, can’t…

like the sun kissing my brows

like a penned poem which dare not write

that particular line

which line? the line that tells my age

after blowing out the thirtieth candle, my lips

start to crescent; they hook

to the labels that others call me by

the more they ascend, the more they split open

until my lovebite marks the mirror, imprinting yet another

of my lips, resembling

how a breath lasting 6.4 seconds

would look when plunging into love

The original Chinese version of this poem, ‘单身者的肺部观察’, won first place in the Senior category in Poetry Festival Singapore’s National Poetry Competition 2026.

• Tags: Issue 45, Malaysia, Poetry, Singapore, Xin Ru, Zheng Wei