poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.

Hands. Cheeks. Eyes. Lips.Neck. Ears.Thighs.Heart. Soul.Ahh!the things I get tosavor you with.

our feet are grape-squashed in memoriesour skins are still flushedfrom the touch of summer’s lips.

For youi have saved poemsunder my skin.

she's gotoceanstucked awayin her hairpoems swimunder her skin.

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

Poems are invisible flowers on my skin.

I live there...Far above the song-filled clouds,where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.