We are messy opposites,

in our various states of undress.

This un-tucked condition

allows promise to come

apart at the seams,

lies confirmed in graphic splendour.



Refusing to taint modesty

with formaldehyde kisses,

there can be no pretense here;



I stifle my gag reflex,

lips quivering.



You are more comfortable

allowing your skin to access mine,

than with its grotesque injustice.



You confess inadequacies,

and though the rhetoric

is convincing indeed,

your hollows betray you.