Skin. A poem by Darcie Friesen Hossack

they say the pandemic is causing us to dream
and last night I dreamed of you
your still-fatted skin spread out on my floor
where I could touch you one last time
I stripped, got down on my knees and crawled
until we were hands to hands,
thighs to thighs,
face to face.
before I woke, I zipped you up behind me


Darcie Friesen Hossack is the Commonwealth Prize-nominated author of Mennonites Don’t Dance stories.

1 Comment

  1. As dreamlike as they come! Picturesque write dear ❤️

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *