yay

[iron_and_silver]

newly edited poem.

As fresh skin
There is always a chill/ when listening to anything by John Lennon/ because it always reminds me of the death/ of him/ my long farewell/ to innocence.
18 and inside Louisiana/ like a raw emerald/ in a forgotten mine/ J had a way of giving shelter/ to unstable tobacco/ the kind to threaten suicide/ from the fatness of his over ripe lips/ an unforgettable beauty/ when wearing dying jeans/ sweet saliva/ like the first time you tasted rain/ as a child.

I’ll never forget how blue the air was.

I wanted to feel the act of empty creation/ he wanted to feel the texture of my skin/ to prove my existence/ within our small hours/ he left minor fingerprints/ on segments of skin/ having a tendency to shed/ flakes of days descending/ like dead leaves/ soon to be reborn/ as fresh skin.