Touch: Poems

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...

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...

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....

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...

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...