Inside My Skin

Limbs, muscle, sinew,

hung up on wires.

I’m a hummingbird heartbeat,

a frantic staccato.

Ivy paths make my wrist’s flesh,

they tangle across my palms.

Opal nailbeds cut crescents,

into my arms, my thighs.

My back arches towards the sky,

a canopy from stomach to collarbone.

My diamond threaded spine,

loosens in hot water and honey.

Bathe me in white porcelain,

with claws for feet.

In pink bath salts,

leave me encrusted.

Read me an old story,

choose one I know.

Or my pareidolia,

will find its own means.

Stir wild mint and sugar,

through my tea at night.

Fidget in twisted linen,

eyes wide against my pillow.

I like my showers to burn,

I never sleep.

I’m tempest fire and supple body,

the nightmare that lingers.

Fevered hands clutch the scalding cup,

and curl around coffee scented steam.

Knuckles grow white when bone shows,

I sit in dusky lamplight.

Watch the shadows slip,

across my curves, my empty spaces.

I’m on my knees,

rock back onto hollow feet.

Toes knotted under my weight,

as they grip the floorboards.

My hair falls thick and fast,

cups the shell of my ear.

I taste salt on my jawline,

press one hand to my breast.

I try to breathe,

nudge my thoughts towards bed.

Body slick with oil and cream,

lips swollen with balm.

Show me something to hold onto,

I’d like a violet sky.

Cast aside the curtains,

a full moon weighs heavy.

I am not gentle,

but strength escapes me.

The precipice of longing,

for something deeper than slumber.

And simple stillness,

which never comes.

Kiss me slowly,

before I go blind from wanting.

Align my senses,

give me a moment in time.