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Feb 2019
Give me your skin
That I may take on the burdens you bear by the tone of your flesh.

Give me your wrinkles carved deep into chasms, the evidence of a life lived long and distant from my own, and let me know the feeling of smoothing them out, the feeling of wrinkling them further.

Give me your hue, and pass
The very thing that makes us unique as a flower is passed
From a hillside to a forest by the shambling of a bee, and let me dwell among the cells of your body jail.

My forehead meets your shoulder, and I will my consciousness to meet yours in a crossing, wish that you might feel the strength of my resolve, the surety others cannot know because they do not live in my skin.

Sounds perfect the moment, my breathing steadied by wishing, your heart beating, the tension of being separated by bodies a force in the room that tempts challenging like facing an impassable mountain range.

Give me your skin and fold me into you, keep me honed and edged in the sheath of you, or I will rust in the air with this space between us.
N R Whyte
Written by
N R Whyte  Toronto
(Toronto)   
121
 
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