Submitted Date 05/19/2019

My sand paper skin

Peels back in paint chips

As I bake

And curl

And sizzle

In a sun that used to be just right


But I've moved

And I have a lover now

And I enjoy saying that

More than husband

Or fiancé

Or friend.


It sounds like I am a character in a dark Russian novel

Whose days are barren and lonely

Whose nights are starless and full of cold wood floors

Folded into the darkness of the sheet creases

And his shovel hands


Flaying me from the bone

Curl by curl

Until he cracks my wrists

And sucks the juices

Sustaining him like a meal of

Boiling crab

Flesh pink

And sunburned.

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