Featured Piece written by Meg Paulsen ©
I know only how to touch
without hands,
and therein lies the catch:
I’m holding a face I cannot speak to,
tracing a tongue that cannot receive
the gold I grow on my lips
nor taste you in the names I give it.
“Then don’t say anything,” you tease,
and lean in again for more.
But first, I muse, “You know,
I don’t think you know how wonderful
you are.”
You hear me, and you listen too,
but word will never strike the root
from which your tenderness stems,
and none of my impassioned hymns
will hit like a kiss from you.
About Author
Meg Paulsen is constantly in flux. Hailing from Ohio, USA, the young writer assumes her truest form through verbal expression. In addition to writing, she enjoys singing, acting, exercising, and occasionally drawing.
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