What’s left of me condenses from
vapor into the folds of your skin-
the inner elbow crease, where if I
cup my mouth I can feel your pulse
so I exhale
just a little bit
to make the beat glow.
If you get close enough without touching,
you can feel the warmth of blood just underneath,
sometimes you can even fucking hear it.
I hear it, I hear it when you’re far away,
I hear it when you look at the back of my head,
and I feel you bite my tongue;
I can taste what you’re thinking.
Mariah Thomas is a writer who lives in Kansas City. She studied creative writing at UMKC and is fascinated by lust, Patsy Cline and what it means to be a person. She has never learned to cook.
Featured image by Joshua K. Jackson