That’s all the note said.
Something about skin.
I tried to remember the feeling I must’ve had
in my muscles when writing those words,
but I couldn’t.
Something about skin.
Was it a handwritten scribble to jog a memory?
Or a warning for my largest organ’s future?
I often feel like a onesie for a wise creature
that dies the second the zip goes up.
Like a firework on a rainy November.

© Carl Burkitt 2020