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Mar 2015
sometimes i trace my own hip bones
in the dark,
and run my fingertips over the curvature of my spine,
pretending the warmth belongs to someone else.
i speak my own name in my mind,
imagining it's syllables spoken tenderly
by a lover's tongue,
each letter dripping with sugar.
my fingertips itch for closeness,
and curl around imaginary fingers,
like wishful muscle memory.
i have so much love to give.
i have so much love to receive.
Written by
haley  NC
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