Skin

Pillows of flesh don’t come from just anywhere
not the whites, the beiges, the freckled–
these beasts, nurtured behind bars of perseverance
tender enough to eat.

Stroking one finger summons a maelstrom
One lingering glance a hail of needles.
This one devours, pierces
caresses, rocks slowly in tight arms.

This beast of flesh
strokes under the spell of soft skin.
Naiveté responds in turn.