A Poem About A Yearning Touch and How We Treat Skin

Titian, Venus of Urbino, 1532 or 1534


Wraps around my muscles and fat

Delicate to the touch like an oil painting in a museum

But as soft as the edge of a shadow

Sparks underneath the skin erupt underneath a finger’s touch

A lip and tongue trace the surface of the neck and

A warmth that I feel in my bones

But I remain in the painting, skin exposed

A pale rose under the paintbrush

Beyond what the hand can reach


Dreads the pain underneath a cut

The leather stretched tautly and dried fragile

Fashioned and worn

Taken, used, and torn

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store