Fall 1983 • Vol. V No. 4 Poetry |

Without Its Skin

Without its metal skin a plane cannot endure air's least resistance; without water skin, the airy cherry blossom cannot begin its long floating journey. Skin touching lover's skin tingles like the wind around a crater just before eruption: tense, acute, stretched sensitively thin. The pleasure skin craves is to approach that zero thickness where dark of inner flesh, through membrane thin as light, melts into another dark of flesh: first dim light of dawn on skin. We are all earth skin: water-streams carrying petals of flowers unknown.

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