Skin

I being the misnomer of a body
that I am
and you the green billowing
fruit of some tragedy
have places to trounce unending
fledgeling into the crust
of some songs
and gimlet buttons

For
I have painted your shadows with the colour
of waiting,heartfelt skin
I have improved the texture of my voice
so that you may fall in love
with its husky whoredom
of romance
I have prayed upon the teeth of
shifting darkness
to swallow my insipid curious eyes
as they fall upon you
meandering into some corridor
foreign and
beautiful
with flowing hair
near its beads
of tepid, stale air
with clear, radiant cheeks
with perfect, contours for thighs
and lips, the pinch of some
Coraline watercolour
dignified and virginal

For
I am a thief of absurdity
a disciple of inane things
I am
an imperfect wisp of
polluted words
A nubile assortment
of overgrown years
tired years
years pulsing
with the harpoon
of fists
and table top edges
and borderline regret
shining starkly,
through
the oil on my skin
my heartfelt skin
skin, brown
and choked with
cystic dots of longing
skin howling
skin starving
curling skin
jutting out
as hands
and lips
skin
hoping
and then waiting
waiting in its colours
in its covers
of your unknown
untouchable
world
loath to
a pauper's demise
Not an animal's