the answer of a body in the heat of the summer brilliance,
when asked about what the dead of winter feels like,
is mine when asked about your love.
beneath the sun, frost no longer bites at my fingertips.
YOU ARE READING
SKIN
Poetryas strong as the bones beneath, the skin of mine i am, embraced with scars, stripes, constellations, and yours as strong as skin I am. { cover drawn by yours truly }
