by Shereen Asha Murugayah
I’m clearing dishes when I see it.
A communal mug, white and sturdy,
a dried teabag and a yellow pubic hair in it.
He is the only blond here.
I run the tap
then decide to throw it out instead.
We kissed once, a month ago,
he’s writing up his thesis in the library now.
I hope his examiners are kind and swift.
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lipstickparty mag has also published Shereen’s poem “Floating”