Credit: Faustine Badrichani

Softly glide your fingers
along my skin
and feel my open pores
aching for your
touch, lips, and
skin against mine.

Let me taste your perfume
through sense, and hear your body
move through motion.

Keep me close; I shiver no more.
Touch me, so I tremble.

Big Hand, Little Hand

Grandfather used to tell me
never race around the clock.

He said, at midnight
a bell will sound and
turn a day into a memory.

I ignore him
and chase the hand in front of me
only to catch it for a minute
twenty-two times a day.

For when I do,
I say not a word.
We exchange glances and
continue our separate ways.

As I reach midnight
and the bell rings once more,
I finally realize why
Grandfather said what he did.

We can go around and around
all we want to
reaching stops along the way,
but it’s only a single lap
of a never-ending race






Between my ears you speak
sometimes in rhyme
but always coupled with rhythm and bass.
Your melodies loop in my head over and over.

Instead of talking all the time, why don’t you listen?
I’ve tried to thank you.

When no friends to call,
no family to help,
secluded alone in my silent thoughts,
like always, there you were.

I’m grateful you know, truly I am.

For now, I’ll play you until your baseline goes flat
or I become deaf, whichever comes first