Flesh

Musee

See where it burns in Titian's brush
subsides along the cool Aegean stone,
or twists in the fist-faces of Rome,
our only mystery--flesh.

There, uncertainty ends, or does it merely pause?
The surgeon's knife reveals a shadow
no surface contains, our laws
are not what we do or vow.

Yet surface is all, and scars--
the scuttled pains that heal.
Observe how memory collects in flaws
placed where they are most real.

Or how, as flowers, the persistent leaf
bears the color of its grief.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Ekwobi Avatar
March 20, 2023 at 4:30 AM
Real poem, enviable style! Age-old flesh shows it all: flesh would never agree to things hide.
Mirza  Avatar
March 6, 2023 at 11:19 AM
Very insightful!
Duncan Avatar
March 5, 2023 at 10:22 PM
Nicely done
Hind Avatar
February 15, 2023 at 12:49 PM
This had me thinking! Deep work!
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