Saint Of Touch Poem by Za7ra Sulaiman
Saint Of Touch
i'm no stranger to grief.
to love is to sip melancholy
slow,
like wine gone bitter.
but i am a saint to intimacy.
show me the beast
you're sure i'll flee from—
the fangs,
the rot,
the ruin you hide.
let me love you there.
let me hold what you hate
before
i'm forced
to grieve it.
Sunday, May 11, 2025
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3/14/2026 4:58:32 AM # 1.0.0
