Feb 23, 2021
1 min read
An Act of Keeping
A Poem
The flakes of skin that fall around me
don’t look appetizing
and yet
I lick my finger,
touch them,
feel them stick,
bring them up to my mouth
and
roll them around on my tongue
like I might reclaim a piece of myself
forever shedding to the hands of time.
Let me keep myself a little longer.
