To hold your name

should not conjure up

days of stifling suns.

It shouldn’t mean hands

that fold themselves

over and over

like obsessive handkerchiefs.

Your name shouldn’t be a red dot

blinking in some warehouse,

warning of an open door.

I should feel no spider crawl,

hairs gluing and ungluing

themselves up my arms.

No.

Your name should be flour or sugar.

Substantial. Spotless. Filling.

It should carry the taste

of a lemon drop,

rolling and moist

on my lapping tongue.

Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time either writing or reading. Her works have appeared in Exercise Bowler, Blinking Cursor, Theory Train, Magnolia’s Press, Cartier Street Press, Berg Gasse 19, Precious Metals and will appear in the upcoming editions  A Handful of Dust, The Scarlet Sound, The Adroit Journal, Perceptions Literary Magazine, Welcome to Wherever, The Corner Club Press, Death Rattle, Danse Macabre, Subliminal Interiors, Generations Literary Journal, Super Poetry Highway, Stream Press, Stone Telling, Popshot and Perhaps I’m Wrong About the World. You can find her here: http://coldbloodedlives.blogspot.com