It was odd to see how you developed over time.
your body was hairless at first. almost perfect to look at.
then age made its mark your body turning into
a forest of hair all over - from asshole to eyelash.
your legs and your belly and your chest
a kind of garden, a dirty garden of hair
the hair reached between your thighs
hugged around your buttocks
peppered the torso lined your chest
it looked like some kind of skin disorder
but only because - we thought hair was wrong.
Hair was a sign of the irreversible chess move of age.
It was bound to happen. A tangible of roots.
the great fresh flesh of skin
now being schooled in the rites of aging…
one day your poems shall grow hair
and they will be men
and they will reflect the man
and they will be read by
millions of eyes
and we shall compare skins
mine old. theirs young.
and we will measure time
together as we read
experience through
skin of page
skin of bone
skin of age
skin of time
the great sharing
onward onward…
the skin is a certificate
our journal
our envelope
our last address
