There by the Kitchen Sink

A call to action opens bright my eyes,

And shacks in the knees.

Both tans and pinks cover mine.

A stretchy and kind smelling skin.

What beast scratched at the earth and was born of clay feet?

Whose hands, like the cold plushness of a dead pup hold such genteelness.

We live together, my body and me,

Soaking in any moment not enjoyed to its fullest;

Romping in dresses and counting new spots and scars. 

The hole of eternity doesn't fret, 

When compared to the prison the ribs have kept.