acidic
is my tongue when i see her for the first
time / i think, maybe, i’ll feel
butterflies at her touch, but
i feel only
static / slumber / stagnant /
and so i wait
she catches my eye,
i won’t lie,
so i squeeze my eyelashes until
they shed off of
taut cheek, chrysalis to metamorphosis
to butterfly kisses on temples
to wanting
more than i can give,
so i take and take and take
until she takes flight
off of my pinky
finger.
Naomi Ling is a Sino-American student writer on the East Coast, USA whose poetry and prose often grapple with identity, nostalgia, and returning to her roots. The founder and EIC of Gossamer Lit, she is also a staff editor for three other journals. Her works have been recognized nationally by the Scholastic Awards and Top Ten Poetry and are forthcoming in Eunoia Review, TYWI, all guts no glory, and elsewhere. She tweets unprofessionally @naomilingwrites.