Tuesday, May 27, 2008

by Catherine Cho

He woke with his hand curled in her hair

She'd been baking all morning
He could smell it
on her skin.
Pineapple cream and
cookie shaped hearts.

He took her hand
Tongue tracing over
her fingers -
catching the grains
of sugar stained skin.
eyes closed
As if he could hold her
sugar on his tongue

But he could feel it
disappearing already.

Is it selfish
of me to only want parts of you
divided up
a butcher’s market –
your hands –
the way your fingers curl
and your body shakes
yes those things I can say
for those I have fallen
the intake
and the gasp
as you fight
and I remain.

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