I undress my mind
To the rhythms of earth,
And off my skin goes dancing
Into the light;
The light,
That skips your eyes!

Erin
by Michael R. Burch

All that’s left of Ireland is her hair—
bright carrot—and her milkmaid-pallid skin,
her brilliant air of cavalier despair,
her train of children—some conceived in sin,
the others to avoid it. For nowhere
is evidence of thought. Devout, pale, thin,
gay, nonchalant, all radiance. So fair!

How can men look upon her and not spin
like wobbly buoys churned by her skirt’s brisk air?
They buy. They ***** to pat her nyloned shin,
to share her elevated, pale Despair ...
to find at last two spirits ease no one’s.

All that’s left of Ireland is the Care,
her impish grin, green eyes like leprechauns’.

Keywords/Tags: sonnet, Ireland, Erin, hair, red, carrot, skin, pale, pallid, fair, devout, children, sin, adultery, gay, skirt, skirts, men, lust, desire, passion, arousal, radiance, nylon, nylons, tights, stockings, pantyhose, beer, ale, alcohol, *****, spirits, drink, drinking, pub, bar, club, care, worry, anxiety, grin, smile, green eyes, leprechauns

The sun tans the skin
into beautiful brown color
and adds natural glow.

Trigger Warning* depictions of ****** assault

Beach sands
peeling off a swimsuit
a wet slap
not quite drenched to the bone
yet still a burden
how it sits heavy on the tongue
a humid storm
inside you
heaviness in the prison of my ******
I am trying to pull up my *******
after my friend ***** me
in December
and I'm thinking of how everyone I love
has once hurt me
'moist' is the sound
of his fingers slipping inside me
I am closing my eyes
as the cotton of his shirt clings to my bare legs
and I am thinking that all the wetness must have
teeth
especially the wetness that grows within
and spills out
or chews its way through the skin
and falls onto another's
the night I was *****
everyone laughed
until the walls were moist
until it rained indoors
I say moist
and first, think about two naked bodies
the sound their skin makes
when I try to fight him off
underneath a hungry moon
in a house of warm heat
I saw moist
and think of his tongue against me
the bullet in his brain as I curse him
on a cold December night
the room
my *******
a dark red
I say moist
as in
my own blood spilling in my white ******* moist
or
his fingers moist as he pounded into me
so hard I bled
or my eyes moist when
I told my Momma what that boy had done to me
it felt like winter for ten years.

I want to write POEMS on your SKIN with my LIPS.

LET THE INK HIT THE GROUND.

I Want to write POEMS on your SKIN with my BREATH.

LET THE INK HIT THE GROUND.

I Want to write POEMS on your SKIN with my SKIN.

LET THE INK HIT THE GROUND.

A beautiful girl with a broken smile
Everything she touched turned into life
She cared for her loved ones
And she cared for her friends
But in return all she got was pain

Her beauty so vibrant
Her skin so pale
Nobody understood
What’s her pain

She wandered around
In search of a light
But all she got was darkness
Which kept killing her until she died