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The Murmur Of Two Skins When They Touch

11 de mayo de 2018

Cultura Colectiva

Watching arms and bodies twist around one another doesn’t hold a candle to hearing a groan in the crook of your neck.

Marina Manoukian

 is an avid reader and a writer who sometimes dabbles in collage art. 
She currently resides in Berlin. She is pursuing a Masters in English Philology
. Her poems "Senses Getting Fired" and "That Moment" are filled with sensations and memories of moments that we thought were gone forever.


I used to think I’d rather lose hearing over sight. How would you read text how would

you read image.

No. It was never worth it to give up something so crucial. Being read to wouldn’t even come

close. Why trap stories in another’s voice when you could have the ability to soak them in at

your own pace, in your own head, in your own way.

But I forgot that without hearing then you can’t hear another come. You can’t hear a gasp or

a whisper, neither a melody nor a whimper. Nothing changes with the turn of a head

because everything is already drowning in a cloud. It’s just you and your thoughts, left alone,

supervised by that incessant ringing, only there to remind you that you’re still awake. In

dreams you can hear but then why bother waking up to emptiness. Watching arms and

bodies twist around one another doesn’t hold a candle to hearing a groan in the crook of

your neck. I’d rather blow out that candle and welcome darkness just to hear our pants echo.

Even if you can feel the touch of a hand on your back it’s not the same without the murmur

of two skins. Touch can’t exist in a vacuum.


ever have that moment where just for a breath you’re back at your cubby grabbing the

ziplock bag of cookies and everything is little with the smell of new rather than smoked.

or you taste that sensation in your mouth and remember it from somewhere in a small bed

in a crib but you just can’t place it.

when you can remember feeling trapped in an incapable body

when you can still remember

when you were still


Illustrations by Maria Uve

TAGS: Poetry Writing

Cultura Colectiva


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