11:43 Skin

I lie, aligned, under the delicious moon
perfectly,
my left hand echoing my right - palmed
to the flooded sky -
and imagine (mouth tasting of ragged
metal edge) that my breasts
have become the peaks of stormclouds;
or wonder

whether
one day my sculpted woman's parts will dissolve
into smooth torso (yes,
the taste is a recycled fantasy)
and I'll kiss and kiss my female self,
those upturned thunderclaps and mountains,
feeling humming blood
beneath her unbroken skin.