I found you again
in the corners of my dreams
where I left you last
you were warm and we fit together perfectly
just as I had remembered
in a time long gone by
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your hands.
your hands
your skin, somehow gentle and slightly rough
like wet sand
what colour are they, but the colour of skin
freckles, scattered about
you've a small scar on your pinky
perhaps from errant scissors or perhaps from a thorn
fine hairs stand on edge, tall, like a winter forest without leaves
the creases on your knuckles form layers of old soil
you've been biting your index bones
not an active chomping but simply grabbing hold
and not letting go
instinct or anxiety
nails smooth like stone weathered by the wind
I can feel your veins pressing though
you wear silver rings
(but not of marriage)
and a thin black bracelet on your wrist
the lines of your palm make me wonder about palmistry
what of your future, and what of your past
you are warm
there is a delicate moisture, nervous sweat asking to break through
I don't want to stop noticing every insignificant detail
I want to know
I want to know everything you've ever held
I don't want to let go
Echoes, echoes,
all these echoes 'twining over our bones, we are
tattooed
into each other's soul matter
like seafoam
into cresting wave breath,
and everything echoes,
thunderclaps into neuron crevasse, pulsed
melodies eroding the silence,
sense
and essence, molten into one,
reforged as serenity.
© Anna S. 2023
Eat local. Put your girl on the counter
Erika L. Sánchez, from “La Cueva”, Lessons on Expulsion
[text: Who is this
in the mirror? Why won't you love me?
Why won't you let me be?]
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