Two skins
He runs between
these forbidden ways,
veins
coursing down narrow train lines,
etched
in skin, serrated pink ruin,
travels
in ordinary flesh moulded to him.
Lost
summers chase his back, tattooed inks
pay
homage to his life’s long gathering,
drawing his
heart line from end to shine.
She treads
a pattern of convoluted curves,
wood slats
precarious on a bridge of discord.
Misplaced
fools peer into this great grey sea,
enrich its
bleakness, take it by the hand.
Steel bracelets
rattle from wrist to elbow,
Whistle a
restless tune of artless wandering,
drawing her
heart line in their shimmering.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, October 5, 2020
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