A Poem About A Yearning Touch and How We Treat Skin

Titian, Venus of Urbino, 1532 or 1534

Skin

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

Skin

Dreads the pain underneath a cut

The leather stretched tautly and dried fragile

Fashioned and worn

Taken, used, and torn

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