Still Light Unveils

Marissa M. Zhu

Moonrise drapes her muslin throat

across the room. Everything hushes.

Desire folds itself into brocade:

my letter pressed beneath perfume bottles,

your name stitched inside a pillow's seam.

The sky forgets its vowels.

Fingers braid the air with rumor.

Windows withhold our reflections.

Your face is washed in cathedral glass.

We soak harsh truths in amber-dipped tongues.

Even our silences blush.

—

Daybreak has no patience

for embroidery.

Sunlight burns what night obscured.

It peels back the curtain,

unveiling half-corked truths.

So now—

tell me what you meant last night.

Not in riddles, not in wine.

Tell me why your hand trembled

toward mine, then away.

Why you said

nothing

when I leaned close enough

to hear your breath catch 

on my name.

—

Say it plain.

Say you wanted to stay.

Say you didn’t.

Say you meant to kiss me.

Say you still do.

Or say nothing. Again.

Watch how morning

holds even silence

to the window.

How shadows lean

toward noon,

how yesterday's wine stain

becomes today's

open door.  

More from Marissa M. Zhu ↓

• @marissazhu on Instagram
• @marissamzhu on Substack where she publishes The Wanting: A literary exploration of desire as generative force—neither absence to cure nor state to transcend. Love notes to the hunger that never resolves, only transforms.
• Her debut poetry manuscript, Memories We’ve Never Made, blends cinematic lyricism with psychological precision. In this 30-piece collection, Marissa examines how even unrealized loves can leave indelible imprints.

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