burnt skins smells like
ashes from the chimney
during winter and the
toaster oven sighs.
so do i. my bagel is crisp,
maybe even posionious,
but i eat it anyway. like i always
do. second degree burns never
kept me from the next day.
callouses and bruises thread up
the calves of your legs. you pretend
it's not there but i know. my boyfriend
likes to come home past ten. but i know
he is always late, always exaggerating
the circumstances we like to live within,
and somehow we can never pierce it,
like artificial skin.