Poem - Skin

Skin

Stretched like elastic;
fortified,
daring,
last defense,
you and I
translucent sheets
lucid things
to see.

Lucid dreams,
milk,
ivory,
honey,
tea.

Lucid things I feel.
I'm like a cotton ball;
dirtied easily,
shred with a pull
of your hands.

I am like many cotton balls,
picked by the weevil,
spun like so much thread.

You are an art,
a piece of art pulled
taut at the corners,
and I see behind you,
through your opaque skin
to shadow.

You are a curtain,
and there are silouhettes
behind your skin
your skin,
muscle and flesh
and behind that even
heart and lung and bone
and limb,
stretched over frame,
stretched like art,
like painted fingers
like
the was my fingers paint
your skin.