H.R.Powell

Soft

I’d shuck this suit if I could

Begone skin begone flesh

Away with stagnant fat

I’d be free of this troublesome hair

Breeze unto my bones

Release me from this prison

That I may truly feel the air

 

Yet I would no longer feel the comfort

Of soft flesh against another’s chest

Or how I give beneath a hand

Though bones are beautiful

I think being soft might hold me fast