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.

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece

Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More


Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.


With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.