The Kiss -by Stephen Dunn She pressed her lips to mind. —a typo How many years I must have yearned for someone’s lips against mind. Pheromones, newly born, were floating...
The Ecstasy -by Phillip Lopate You are not me, and I am never you except for thirty seconds in a year when ecstasy of coming, laughing at the same time...
We have no choice in the bodies that hold us -by Holly Amos Thing of dirt and water and oxygen marked by thinking and reacting and a couch one may or may not be permitted to sleep on....
We Manage Most When We Manage Small -by Linda Gregg What things are steadfast? Not the birds. Not the bride and groom who hurry in their brevity to reach one another. The stars do not...
The Touch -by Anne Sexton For months my hand was sealed off in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings. Perhaps it is bruised, I thought, and that...