Sixteen years and I still want you
to hold my doors and God bless
every sneeze. It’s okay that we don’t
say excuse me anymore, we wedge
our way between each other some-
times with words and others with our
bodies eager to get closer than skin
or bone allow, pressing, tasting eagerly
like it’s our first time, like
it’s new and then it is new
because in that comfortable
silence that followed, you asked
me for the first time in sixteen
years if I’ve ever named my breasts.
Amanda J. Miller lives in Spencerport, NY and works at The College at Brockport. When she isn’t working nine to five, she spends her time soaking in language, art, and music. She strives to share her writing and her world with others and hopes to have her first collection of poetry published in the near future. Her work has appeared previously on Eunoia Review and on The Ghazal Page.
Oh, this is wonderful! Love the tenderness, the passions, and then, the gentle humor in the end.
Fantastic – really fine