I’ve been eating the skin off my hands
for as long as I can remember;
all-purpose tools, obedient pets,
hot and shining when I unwrap them
I dip my tongue into the new pink
pool of skin my teeth left behind, smooth,
fresh; fingerprint broken, I could be
unknowable, though I know better
than ever now the world flows through this
new window of my body; white waves
rise where the skin courses to grow back
thicker, strong as a heavy oak door
But my front teeth swing it open
and I swallow it off its hinges.
You can stop looking at me
like I’m a freak. Imagine
your body uncontained: its paper
torn, a dahlia blooms on each wrist
your heat pouring out into the air
On one hand, the protection is nice:
Picturesque; you press your soft girl’s hand
to your girlfriend’s neck and make her a sky
over the ridges of fingertips.
But on the other, a red sea gleaming
palm eats your lover whole, and dissolves you too;
Imagine the whole girl turned inside out
from fingertip to stomach, expanding.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mollie Lacy is an emerging poet from Minnesota and a member of the LGBTQ community whose work has been published in Paper Darts. Mollie has appeared on stage at Pangea World Theater, Patrick’s Cabaret, The Southern Theater, SlamMN and Button Poetry.