Issue 7 - December 2020
Untouched
By Rachel French The last hands that touched me were unwelcomed. They left a mark on my soul and now when I think about my body it is tarnished. Violated, Vandalized. I can’t remember what yours felt like. As much as I want to hate you, I can’t help but long for the days when missing the way you touched me was the only memory my skin held. When I prayed to not feel My old love’s hands On the inside of my thigh Or his breath on the back of my neck This isn’t what I meant - No longer untouched
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