flesh forgotton on the breeze,
dropped like a robe on a whim at the sea.
flesh a daydream of leaves and trees
of sweet saintly sharks and men on their knees.
flesh a memory like a toothache in a storm,
or like the caress of silk by the fire until dawn.
flesh a silly name for a crayon in a box, and
an unfortunate sound for something so nervy.
what was the word in other languages?
no time to look it up or put it on or ponder.
flesh so delicious and yet so ghastly, so three dimensional,
yearning to dissolve like a sugar grain in a cup of hot tea.
flesh a friend, or a question, or a road. . . somehow
I got here and don’t know where to go.