al fine
I
time is a skin, the poet says, leaves
of an old-old journey
II
finger the letters of my name
before my skin becomes a bell-tower
that tells the hours, each wrinkle
the many peals of decay,
dull of heart
with dust on the tongue
III
lay words like “us” in my mouth
before I acquire the vocabulary
of old age, and time forgets
its shoes in mirrors,
and pillows grow quiet
IV
sleep in me, awake in me
the glow of abandon,
undeniable as purple flowers
among grass
V
say:
the love that rings, deeper
than yesterdays,
lives naked in this house
~ x ~
a wish, literally spoken
to awake with fingers at the tips
of words, full sentences
rubbed against the skin
of your name –
daily,
inside sound,
trembling in articulations
of bodily language
~ x ~
beyond ink
I shout
from paper roofs
what my hands think I am –
but your hands read my strophes, find more
than ink
~ x ~
© Nicolette
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Just to breathe what you breathe in this world. 
Oh well. You get it, dontcha? 
Sighhh...You do skin such justice, my Sister. Good luck in Zayra's contest, Sweetie. Absolutely gorgeous. 
