My skin is made of memories
Pores seeping
slick images
on the nude canvas
sick with free radical damage

He says he loves me
as he strokes my bare back
He speaks
of my softness and loveliness
in ways I don’t understand

I am a risk factor dream machine
I am cancer waiting to happen

Then again, there are countless
Cells sloughing
as I write this very line
and I think I am free again
until new ones emerge
day after day
Damn this miracle of cell renewal

I would be ripped to shreds
raw for him
If that’s what it takes to forget
So I try
bloody from lip to heel
and it tastes sweet
But it never lasts
Our bodies
have a quiet way
of repairing themselves
from the inside out
whether or not
we like it

My professor said in Bio101
The epidermis is the “tough layer”
of outer skin
protecting our blood and organs
from infection
in this scary germ laden world
that the dermis below is where
the action lies
the nerve endings live
it’s the source of feeling, he said
and I thought
what if the infection stems from the deep?
What then?

Can I be happy in this
ivory armor that protects the world
and him from me?
How many seconds over a lifetime
will my skin send up
new cells, each carrying the weight
of a memory only to be cast away
and replaced
in an ever maddening cycle?
When will they be beautiful?

And when I am old
with tears having carved
canyons around the eyes he has kissed,
will he love me still?

07/05/2007

Posted on 07/05/2007
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