Interface::Skin
one
alive before breath warms air
before the mind settles routine
sunlight lands softly
tracing its movement
across the surface
air slowing
touching skin
cool breeze
through open windows
goosebumps rising
hairs tightening
right arm tingling
moving closer
warmth increasing
no contact
not yet
but
warmth spreading
tracing each line from elbow
to your wrist
breath lingering
turning
not to kiss,
but to sense
bare, exposed
blue lines pulsing
under
goosebumps remaining
warmth settles
before
breath finding
its place
at the surface
no words
just touch
pressure softens
spreading slower
leaving heat behind
when nothing touches
the surface remembers
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Other prose and poems from me.
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All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
You let sensation think without becoming language too quickly.
The poem moves like a careful hesitation, each line not advancing so much as testing the threshold between arrival and restraint. Touch is never fully granted its completion; it remains in a state of near-contact, where perception becomes more intimate than possession.
Even grammar loosens here, shedding punctuation the way skin sheds certainty, so that experience can remain porous rather than concluded. And in that porosity, the body is not described from outside, it is listened to from within its own anticipation.
What lingers most is the final inversion: not that touch leaves a memory, but that the surface itself becomes the remembering.
I had such a good time inside allllll that hush and skin and almost-touch... and now I’m just staring at the wall a little bit wrecked.