Skin

Skin burns skin
In this heat.

The surrounding city landscape
Peels like sheets.
Malleable curves,
Dream-like infrastructures, all
are without angles,
Street lights hang low,
Dripping
on the sizzling,
asphalt road.

And what doesn’t bend,
Just recedes or crumbles.

But the primitive skin,
Does all:
Cracking.
Melting.
Breathing.
Delirious and desirous,
Persistent, it still dreams
of paradisal summers.