floating and leaving no trace
your skin,
according to the textbooks,
holds everything in,
keeps everyone out,
keeps you from coming apart
(though you have no seams)
if we could shed our skins
like snakes do
scratching along rocks and desert scrub
the way a phoenix rids itself
of feathers in a fire
the way a koi trades its fish scales
for dragon scales at the top of a waterfall
we could melt into one another
and our hands would never disengage
he pays for a single fare
and boards the train
his bag heavy on his back
and his bones heavy in his skin
across the track
another train
going the opposite direction
he sees her
from behind at first
as she waves goodbye to
someone on the platform
her arms raised
so that her shirt rides up
just enough
to reveal the smooth
white skin at the small of her back
he thinks about how
he moved automatically
to the windows not facing the platform
watching her wave
watching the skin disappear
and reappear
her car is empty enough, that,
when she turns,
she sees him staring at her
she rushes to the window near the track
toward him
and he thinks
she’s going to pull the shade
or yell
or shake her fist
(do people do that?)
but she smiles
and waves just as hard
as she did at the platform
and her shirt rises enough
to show her belly button
but he is transfixed by her smile
as the trains begin to move apart
and manages a small wave
and wonders where her train is going
the ridge of your hip
raises the white skin
just below your stomach
i trace it with a single finger
you push my hand away
because it tickles
let’s draw a map on your skin
whipped cream for snow
chocolate sauce for roads
blue icing for rivers
fresh spring leaves from trees for the landscape
rose petals for every point of interest
let’s study the map
and explore the territory
the police set up barricades
that didn’t stem the endless tide of cars
in and out of the neighborhood
just slowed them down
and we had to park pretty far away
since you wanted to get out and walk
which was the better way
to see the christmas lights
it was cold for a southern california december night
and talking with you
i watched my breath form vapor clouds
your breath came out like steam too
and our breath mingled
a miniature weather system
between us
i gave you my jacket
the long green overcoat
i had bought secondhand
and we walked close
like we shared ribs and organs and bloodflow
and we barely noticed the grinch and snoopy
the parade of lit-up wisemen
a hundred santas that burned
as bright as the afterimage of fireworks
when i slipped my hand into the false pocket
and found your skin
warm inside in spite of the cold
we had to hurry back to the car
You raised your arms
To do what
Slips my mind
But that shirt I like to see you in
Lifted up
A tiny bit
Two inches
Revealed
Just two inches of smooth
White skin
Between the swell of your hip
And your ribs
And a cool gray shadow
Across your belly
Words and Feathers 