Unclothed

Think of me as a stolen gift. Possessiveness is exempted, but neither me and simply you are missing. We roam free in the open pastures; washing creeks expose my tainted skin. My face becomes embedded in the hot shades that push out the cold air that seeks closure. There is temptation to bite, but also carry the apple around my neck and let the albatross bird return to its seafaring nest. No need for the undead to chase me down in the guttural buzzing of the sea. I walk with an unclothed foot; my head is free from all the thistles that stick with stubborn holds. I look at you with my soft eyes— no need for tired blinks, for the sun competes with my open eyes’ deliberation.