Skin

I'm jealous of your neck That narrow porcelain plinth of flesh It gets to hold your head And I'd rather perform the task instead I'll use my hands You told me of your heart The cold tile cavern bathed in dark And earthy roots hanging from within To shed some light, the fire must get in A searing pulse I'm a fever in your chest The burning sun, I'm west I, I am too naive (you, you are too naive) Your (my) lunar strands were lit in red and green A captivating scene A portion of myself (yourself) was lost to me But I'm not dead (but you're not dead) Just a harbor no one's in An empty salt-filled skin