You peel and you peck at my peel till I relent my seeds are stuck,
tucked together, carpeting my mesocarp. Sinister skin smooths
and smothers at the slips of your silken fingertips you eclipse me.
I all but fall apart a part of me wants an apartheid a part of me,
wants rhythm: a beat a steady ostinato to harmonize a part of me,
wants to remain firm; a fermata fermenting contained by unbroken
rind. I cannot decide or decipher your meaning what do you mean
to gain? I’ve stained your palms and your digits in red I did not
ask you to do that, that acid eats at you, and at me. Acidification
of fact and fad and fiction coat in actinic diction; I cannot annul it.
As I think you’re here to stay you go and wash your hands of me.
There are parts on the floor and parts on the table and parts under
the beds of your perfect nails. I’m uncertain if I could have
circumvented the pain which stains window panes. Look closer,
there’s a message to gain. I’m sane and unscathed, never maimed,
you’ve mistaken a perfect fruit for shards of glass. I’ve not had yet
the luxury to let these secrets long-ago locked in seed pockets free.
Look at me. Tell me what truth you see that is not written in skin.
Poetry
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I love the way this poem sounds in my head with all of the alliteration and similar words. It just all fits together so well!