October 2010
Pressure
The first time
he said “You’re Beautiful,”
I felt butterflies,
yellow and orange fluttering
on my arms.
When he said “I love you,”
I couldn’t fell
my feet.
“Do you love me?”
he asks today, touching
my arm.
He strokes my
hand, and I become
all skin.
My skeleton, the interior
forms that hold me up,
softens into cream.
“If...
“Inside the heart of each and every one of us there is a longing to be understood...”
