Sinking scent

Your hands Under my hands Your hands on my stomach, waist Your hands, tracing my skin Composing your name Your nose near my neck Sinking, in the scent of an ache

Closed classroom

When it began, I was just a timid girl with the weight of the classroom around me. Foreign faces and loud voices. I clearly couldn’t open up here. But your projects were interesting, Mrs. J, and you gave me a mission. I ran into the classroom the next morning with new ideas, and we tested