There by the Kitchen Sink
A call to action opens bright my eyes,
And shacks in the knees.
Both tans and pinks cover mine.
A stretchy and kind smelling skin.
What beast scratched at the earth and was born of clay feet?
Whose hands, like the cold plushness of a dead pup hold such genteelness.
We live together, my body and me,
Soaking in any moment not enjoyed to its fullest;
Romping in dresses and counting new spots and scars.
The hole of eternity doesn't fret,
When compared to the prison the ribs have kept.
Guide that inspired this poem: