Devika Mathur writes

My skin has another skin

I am anxious like the painting of Mona Lisa

Curated with my own jitters,

There is a platter of loss, rumbling loud inside

where the web of splinters corrode my skin

And you may see my second skin,

for pain is the language of skin.

The mouth of a cave is that invincible spot of the moon

so, the mouth resides inside my blood.

Where the droolings of grey skies touch my bare shoulder

screeching. (the inside is the rupture of seeds, with no desire of flowers)

Total Darkness. Cold distilled blue.

Yet, the poetry of inside soul speaks an

array of hopeful rainbows.

Second Skin -- William Lords