This crackle finish,

this patina of pain

makes her a marked woman.


layers of insulation

against the raw oozing

egress of bodily fluids

let loose from crushed conduits,

won’t stitch to spasms

or bind to burns.

What she needs

is not patches

but a new suit of skin,

armour-clad and seamless,

third-degree love-pierced offering,

to cover smarting soul

with the Balm of Gilead.

11 comments on “Skin

  1. Gallivanta says:

    Reminds me of the lovely hymn “There is a Balm in Gilead”; such a lovely balm.

  2. Petro Neagu says:

    Ha! A new suit of skin! That’s what I need right now. And I don’t mean metaphorically πŸ™‚


  3. RoSy says:

    I could us that right now too. Hormones are killing my skin & the winter weather hasn’t been helping either. Ok – I’m done complaining…for now.
    Happy Day πŸ™‚

  4. Eric says:

    Me thinks someone dwelleth on things best not dwelleth on… πŸ˜‰

  5. jaels says:

    Oh WOW, this is good. Funny (not), how the heart’s skin is so fragile–I don’t care anymore what my outside looks like, but I’d sure like new armor for my heart. (Thanks, dear Mel, for your loyalty and caring–I just got the computer home from hospital–dead tower/power–so am catching up. And I believe there will be a victory post/coming out party in early May…)

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