By Taylor McLendon, ‘15
I have never held hands beneath the stars.
I have never felt fingers caress my knuckles
While stars winked at me.
The pressure of palms in prayers of longing,
The pain of the release, praise of security,
These feelings are foreign.
I have never seen moonlight grace brown skin,
Neither his nor mine, neither in this life nor the last,
But I imagine it is to live for.
I am more or less in the daylight,
Sun beating on shoulder blades like Congos,
Under which I am absorbing letters.
Or in the midst of those who are.
The turn of the page like a waltz.
Or an embrace, or these things of which I’ve no knowledge.
The closest I’ll come as of now is between those covers.
The bindings and ink enclose my mind with possibility.
Till experience meets awareness
