Mary Ocher

Foreign fingers
It is only by the touch of
foreign fingers
The tickles.
shiny, brilliant
little spasms of clarity.
and confusion
joined in smooth
That I can become my own
and dispose of your fingers.
But then, again.
the tickles.

Mary Ocher was born in Moscow, in 1986, grew up in Tel Aviv, is now living in Berlin. Has poetry published in UK Poetry Live, Autumn Leaves, Poetry SZ, Unlikely Stories, The Delinquent and East Westerly Review.