The Kiss -by Stephen Dunn
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]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…
Touch: Poems
The Ecstasy -by Phillip Lopate
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]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
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]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
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]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
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]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…