by Ríonach Aiken




The first time I heard your voice
it touched me so closely
I almost hung up.
Who was this stranger who spoke to me?
My voice hid in the business of practical detail,
peering out from behind the leaves
newly aware of its nakedness.
Now we converse, sometimes
cloaked in familiarity,
sometimes skin on skin.

 - Ríonach Aiken

Published in From Different Skies: an anthology by Poetry ID, 2014.

photo credit: Allef Vinicius from Unsplash
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