Eyes shut like garage doors
I imagine very hard what it’s like to be metal
or concrete, hardened,
the water in me
vanished, taking with it
everything soft.
Nothing leaves an impression
when it touches me.
The thinness of skin
is a memory.
Closeness once felt blurry.
The dangerous, yet inviting
intimacy of molecules
unchaining, retangling. Now,
it is friction. A mild irritation
of chalk unbecoming itself
into my roughness.
Each touch becomes a trail
of white dust,
my surface washed clean
with every new rain.