by wynn everett
(when I had skin on),
I fancied walking my fingers around my jaw.
Where all ten would fight their turn –
and ridges to brain, agreed,
that I, too,
was no different.
Years could tickle or beat, but
in shade, my grip would find –
And mind’s pupil rate
this transient walk,
a divine relief of reality.
When flames would ignite
the flesh to engage, reaching out,
I would pull back my opponents hair,
and suddenly, the melodious fire would alter and mew.
Their shell was wrapped the same
And so, looking back –
(when I had skin), I am glad that I found
that delicate branch in the skull.
Where my bone drew a map
to the end.