by Seo Dong-Wook
Like two stamps overlapping on a tiny postcard
tightly I pull you in,
press my chest against your back,
place my fingers on your fingers.
Drawn by the gravity of the one another’s body
the iron particles in our bodies
start to pull in one direction.
Like that, one finger grows
and slowly traces the path of blood
of another fingertip, and there
is a spring that pulses.
The night starts frosting over.
The Milky Way dries up.
The stars one by one turn into desert.
From the spring, warm water vibrates
and an Earth is born,
If I keep my eyes closed:
through the trajectory of blood vessels
between these two bodies.
Leaving a long trail behind
A planet travels back and forth.
Translated by Lee Ji yoon
Seo Dong-Wook is a poet, philosopher, and literary critic. He is a professor of philosophy at Sogang University. He has published three poetry collections, one critical essay collection, and one book of essays, in addition to writing or translating several books of philosophy.