Katrina Kaye

I hold
your cheek
in paper
thin hands.

Skin like
baby powder
folds onto
itself.
So fragile
I fear you will
disintegrate
under my touch.

You warm
my fingers
with whispered
rosaries and
reassurances.
I comfort
and am comforted
in the same
exhalation.

Neither of us
knew
it would be
my skin to fall
first to dust.

“Dust” is previously published in Mollyhouse (2022).