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The Woman Beneath My Skin


The woman beneath my skin 

twists around herself, a ficus tree

she roils and changes 

stretches out and through fingertips

stroking every possible surface seeking

the full spectrum of textures.

The woman beneath my skin 

bursting to escape while

I wait in line at the pharmacy and

sweat in my mask.

She scrabbles fingernails along 

the unde rside of my arm

and I scratch and jitter, and sigh.


She pushes to the surface

a bump blooms on my forearm

my belly raises an oblong and

I am pregnant with her, with this woman

my twin

my mate 

my true friend.


She curls around organs

my stomach, my heart, my lungs

stroking, shoving, rearranging to her liking

she scrapes clean my dark, black corners

she shoots up through my brain

the woman beneath my skin -- 

my mate, my true friend.


Never polite or appropriate

I love her - she doesn’t give a fuck

I love her - slippery, mercurial

I chase her bumps along my body.

She sings to me at night

and I instantly fall asleep

She widens my nostrils till

the smell of cooking meat knocks me down.

If she quiets, I panic,

shake my body till it rattles

when she laughs it bubbles through my mouth

when she cries I drip inside.


I know she is exquisite.

alluring, coquettish

she shimmers around me 

strokes every possible surface 

hugs me from deep inside.

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