![]() SkinA Poem by Andrew John![]() Freeverse![]()
We look at the clean, perfect face,
feel that smoothness against the backs of our fingers, long to stroke it with our fingertips, place our lips against it, sniff, rub gently. That was yesterday. Today, fingernails dig into a scab on that skin. Try to pull it off that face, let out blood? Do you still love it, that flesh, that skin? That being? Today? (12 Dec 2023) © 2023 Andrew John |
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