A Question of Nakedness
fragment by fragment, on a small scale,
by successive developments, cellularly,
like a laborious mosaic. - Anais Nin
Nips, lips and a chasm of whiteness.
A mark they call 'birth'. Imperfection
that wants to love itself. All that stand-alone.
The great crowding physicality. How flesh
recalls action, but scars over the cost.
The questions flesh fold on, give rise to.
Do I turn you on? Turn on you? Hurt
when I press here. Here? The thigh's mole,
will it answer to melanoma, to Melanie?
How SP30+ became a process of affection,
cotton sucking on a figurative field
of follicles and sweat. The occasional
horror of a deep metaphorical wound
or otherwise and the smug nature
of paper cuts. Beauty versus scars.
Natural regeneration v.s. stocking-up
on anti-aging products.
All the recesses I fear and my inability
to say 'hole' around your arousal.
Pinkness and rawness (that relationship).
The take-it-in-your-stride concept
of disposal, birth and of f---ing.
The body's gumption. How it breaks
on time, indulgence and self-harm.
The egging-on of the virile seed.
Regret for the wounded animal
who leaves me bloodless, but fools me
into power. The lack of cushioning
on shoulder blade, knee and elbow
fixtures. The exasperation of a slow
scab and the fruitless study of palms.
The distrustfulness of wrists.
How I cannot really slander
or comprehend my nakedness at all.
© 2009 Zefuyn (Melanie Firth)
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