the science of your skin. 

when i see skin

that looks like the skin

i traced sonnets into

summer mornings

on your back,

i feel it beneath my

word-speakers/

goodbye-transmitters/

howl-havers/

you call lips,

you are pressed beneath

my palms

and in my nail beds;

all forensics is bunk science

but life is a theory

and this is a query 

into existing simultaneously

across the non-linear echoes of time. 

my sternum is a 

nuclear reactor,

i am a 

hazmat suit with soul. 

you left behind

barren wombs

and mutations. 

we are slowly vibrating

at an atomic level,

i am touching

your largest organ 

but never really touching

your largest organ. 

creationism would say

you came down to that garden 

with those scars;

i saw you crawl out of ooze 

and dig your own talons into

shoulder flesh. 

it is pain,

you are so accurate,

we are still learning of your kind. 

how many layers 

deep into dermis 

do you still feel me? 

what formula do you have

to calculate your fingerprints off my

bruises?

why are your eyes causing

blood and blisters

and third-degree burns on me?

when did you decide to graft 

your sorrow onto 

my inner thighs?

always know your borders,

always wear breathable fabric. 

we can sweat through our skin. 

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