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The senses of my hands by Sumaiya Vawda

Sumaiya Vawda | October 12th, 2017 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

My hands felt
your receding hairline
your Halloween silhouette
your soul that has already melted

A gush of air poses as hips,
double padding for your lofts;
you were disappearing
but my fist smelled your shadow fighting.

I never once saw you
And I didn’t want to hear it through-
how these gloves of blood vessels
talk of feeling your fuselage spiral
from warm to nothing

Now my fingers still hear your
tender breath upon them
but never once more
will these knuckles taste
the fruit of your favour

Poet Bio

Sumaiya Vawda is an 18-year-old scholar in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. When she’s not procrastinating with school assignments or engaging in political discourse, she may be found pouring herself onto paper.

5 (100%) 2 votes

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