Thinking Skin

I have thinking skin, made of indus mud, opium and autumn rain

It's used to kneading seconds to minutes, minutes to hours

Like sand inside the walls of an hourglass

But today for some reason

It's thinking of alpine roads, cool mountains

and Kestrels fluttering rapidly like hearts

My skin has thoughts in every pore

it thinks of taking chances with stray pockets of breath

and runnels of a soft, whispered language

It disintegrates like a picture puzzle when you look at me

Bunting goosebumps on the winds

Like little pontoons keeping love afloat; skin to skin, hand to hand

I have thinking skin and it wonders why we

cannot burst forth with mirth, like humble Euphorbia seeds

and pollinate our love with joy

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