07 October 2016

Poem-A-Day #220 : Touch


Recoil at the touch :

                    but it was my dear name
          pressing its cheek against my hand

A battered dog left on a chain
its neck ringed in sores and scabs

If only surrender were option enough if only
it were not a release our bodies are so transparent
they are mosquito nets made of gold mesh
hanging over a bed of feathers

All of this is to say that they disintegrate upon touch
but they do love to touch

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