Thin Skin
We were late to our own lives
Fawning in the wake of our elders
We swallowed mysterious joys and tears
Longings that were not ours —
Yearnings:
Beneath the meniscus
Undercurrents swell and rise
Pinching the surface, bursting forth
The membrane melts
The needle falls;
Marking time;
It drifts deeper and deeper
To the heart of the self
To the centre of choice
And at last
We arrive.
Published in
1 min readSep 2, 2015
