Touch of Your Skin
Your clothes do not hide your frame of lies
And your snug white t-shirt despises the touch of your skin.
I remember your calloused hands
Like I remember how my legs curled your thighs
With a hunger for warmth,
It was a warm heart that I longed for,
While your goal was the sexual moment of arrival.
My hot showers did not erase the touch of your hands,
As the soap killed bacteria that seemed innocent compared to you.
Sometimes your firm chest seems so far away
While your eyes feel so close that I instantly sit upright,
Adjusting my posture
As though you are about to sigh and disapprove
That I look anything less than perfect.
Your skin folded around me like the tent I desired
While your words shook away my roots and
Replanted me in a forest of lies –
Tell me how to get back to the land of skin that carries no hurt
With evergreen trees that are loved for the curve of their branches.
©2013 Christy Birmingham