Thin Skinned (Poetry)

I wear love’s memory like skin
a blush-streaked weave of grey
I feel its silken texture cling
it comforts night and day

Thin fabric clothes my body’s frame
it wraps both heart and mind
it stretches yet it stays the same
well-cut and tailored fine

Lone winter nights it keeps me warm
in summer linen-cool
or armour-like protects from harm
this sentimental fool

And when it sometimes squeezes tight
so tears spill hot and sweet
I smile — unbutton without fight
stand naked head to feet

Then let the haemorrhage begin
the ruby river flood
and passion write its wildest sin
across our page in blood

until it’s done — that pain expressed
ripped open red and raw
such wounds will close once I am dressed
again in rags of war