I've always known that
I own my body until you
you used your hands on it
now I cannot call my body
mine for you use your fingers
as if you understand
every crevice and outline
every orifice and joint
every turn and pause
every pain and pleasure
more than I do myself
I don't know if my body
is still my own temple
as a matter of fact,
I think I should be living
inside your body instead
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
