The Landscape Of Her Skin: A Poem

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I looked at your body. I studied it

With a curiosity and interest, by

Asking questions that nobody could

Hear, unuttered, in silence, within

Myself.

 

I looked at the self-inflicted

Wounds on your skin, not too deep,

Not too violent, crusts of self-destruction,

On a daily basis, a simple routine against

Yourself, against your skin, no matter how

Old or young you were, you harmed your

Skin as it aged, and I thought I looked

Into a possibility of my own future.

 

I stared at these minefields, the erupted

Lava from within you, the hot blood,

Mine, yours, around your powdery skin

That always smelled clean like a bathroom

Cabinet, hard soap, unused aftershave and brush

And foam, (he had been dead for a long time),

You never ceased to use the same brands.

 

These products became you as I lost you,

I have your powder still, in the drawers of

My nightstand telling me as I dream that

You are right beside me, within me, without

Wounds, without harm, calm and serene.

gray decor lot near brown framed mirror
Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

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