Skin

Baby's like a warm biscuit,

Soft, giving, and retaking it's shape

Skin; your glove forever.

Eighteen years old

Holding fast and tight

To her body

Firm like a banana's skin

Skin for a lover to caress.

Well worn, calloused hands and feet,

Bumps and lumps

Hardened scars

Skin; your protection.

Mid-thirties

Doesn't resist movement,

But flows with every suggestion,

Creeping sluggishly back to place.

Skin of another to touch.

Grandmother's skin hangs

With the effects of gravity and time

And it can be collected in gentle pinches.

It slips and slides all over the place.

Flesh that clung to the cheekbones

Landslides to cheeks and

Skin from cheeks

Become hanging jowls.

Skin; your life.

It's color only ever mattered

Inside your head.