Skin 200

I saw him again.
All I could think about was what we were.

Often, I would find my eyes tracing along those graceful arcs of his neck, so elegant when he turns.

. . . and I see it as he moves, that spot I brushed my lips against.
I loved to kiss him there just to make him smile.

I remember where he bumped his head trying to lean in and kiss me.

I remember those fine soft hairs on his skin, which shone when the sun hit them just right.

I remembered each muscle underneath, which would stop at nothing to protect me.

He raises his arms, and I see the hills and valleys.
I saw that spot.
I would tickle him there when he was down.

. . . and I remember the warmth when those arms embraced me.

. . . and so my eyes wandered . . .
Until they found what he was hiding all this time.
. . . under dyed hair and the colored contacts.

Jagged white scars had cut through those spots I touched.
Bullets and blades had torn at that skin, and made such a man, such a man.
Each white slash made me weep over what had died . . .

. . . that man I loved.

All I see now is a course and calloused man.

. . . still, I beg to touch his skin, to remember each curve and mark.

For pity, that one day he will show me the man he once was.

(261 words)