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Emily K Fisk
Poems
Dec 2015
“Good morning, ***”
The hairs on his chest form a heart
just below his throat;
my fingertips tenderly trace its edge beside my faint breath.
Sensitive,
his back arcs as a gentle smile meets with mine.
“
I only let people I really like see it
,” he whispers softly,
placing his ear against my chest,
tapping the beat upon my cheek.
4.27.13
Written by
Emily K Fisk
Buffalo; Syracuse; Boston
(Buffalo; Syracuse; Boston)
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