Out of the womb
Fresh and uncomfortable,
Temperature irregular. Hold me —
Skin-to-skin — so that
The absence of amniotic fluid
Is only a fleeting memory (but then,
I have no memories, only
Flashes of what’s to come once I’m
Ripped from you)
And you hold on so tight that you
Kill me anyway.
A head lays on a shoulder:
Not close enough. I
Turn and rest my mouth on your
Still not close enough.
Let apart your nictitating membrane so I can see
Into the back of your eye;
The part the optometrist checks for health in longevity.
I want to be the lens,
But only if you need one.
If you see clearly could I still be the lens?
That part is up to you but the
State of your skin does not
Reveal much so I can only hope you
Open four eyes
And tell me yourself.
If only I could shed it and
Grow a new one.
Sick and itchy and
Rip it off: give me Kaa or Gein.
Once the outer layer is removed
My antidote will be only you, do you
Mind sharing a blanket?