Fan Jinghua: Inseparable

　　　　Inseparable

It is always loud on the corridor. The world outside can only conveys a necessity
For calmness and concentration, or breeze-like domesticity.
At the threshold, I see two soles on the arm of a couch. You lie supine on him.
I see a Renaissance pouch at his crotch under your splayed legs.

I say: Don’t move! The wind is coming.

The wind squeezes in through the window, but the wall is hard and slippery.
No matter how it tries to suck, the wind cannot hold up.
It falls down to the foot of the wall, and regaining its foot, it finds no one around.
So it drifts away, crestfallen and piqued.

I follow two steps, hesitate for three seconds, and halt myself before two pairs of eyes.
Then I turn around, bolt upright, hands against legs, and fall back through your body into his.
Below the eaves, the clouds are running horses along the edge of the sky.

You sneak a tap at the pouch, cover it with your palm, and smile a cunning smile.
You ask: are you here all this while or just back?
　　　　　　　　　　　September 23, 2008

　　　　不可开交
走廊太吵，外面的世界只能传达冷静的必要、凝思的必要，
或者家居的如风过耳。
我在门槛外看到沙发的手臂上有两只脚板。你将自己仰放在他身上。
我看到你岔开的腿下他的腿裆鼓起文艺复兴时代的包。

我说：别动，风来了。

风从窗缝里挤进来，墙面又硬又滑；任它死命地吸，也挂不住。
风摔落在墙根。爬起来，四顾无人，它便一个人
离开了，忿忿的，悻悻的。

我跟着走了两步，然后，迟疑了三秒，站定在你们的眼前；
然后我转身，双手垂在大腿两侧，像一根大螺栓
向后倒下，透过你，跌进了他仰卧在沙发里的身体中。
屋檐外，云，如一列马在天际奔跑。

你弹了一下那个包，偷偷捂住，脸上闪着一面坏笑。
你问道：你一直在，还是刚刚回来？
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年9月23-24日