June: her skin is warm in the spot sun can reach
through the windowpane’s right upper quadrant
like lips to a thigh
it rests
like cheek to navel
it melts.
It does not permeate or penetrate
it uncurls, softer than the pillow down
floats
until it reaches her
resting there
careful to preserve, to perceive
and not persuade. It lands imperceptibly;
she doesn’t even notice,
and I never tell her.
***
Aubri Kaufman (she / her) is a poet and a trauma counselor from New Jersey. She is an avid hiker and a novice beekeeper. Her work can be found in HAD, Pink Plastic House, The Daily Drunk (where she was nominated for BOTN), Eunoia Review, and others. She definitely wants to talk to you on Twitter (@aubrirose).
***
image: “Sunlight:” Sean O’Leary is a writer from Melbourne who loves taking photos.
Rejection Letters 