In Intervals

As long as we are firm in our skin
bounce to our breast
taut in our flesh
presented as the best
we are not left to guess.
Now, mirrors occasionally
reflect in jest
knowing outcomes of this mess,
waning eyes asking for less
and time marches on.
I wish I could tell you more
some knowledge
dug easily from the ground
fracked flesh, pouring forth
life forces
a gourd filled to dispense.
But all I know is this:
every line in my skin will fill-in
like grout,
spaces in between a mosaic
tiles, telling a tale of by gone days
full lip pout will turn to thin lined doubt
tight grips and burning flames, will go out,
regrets left behind in the choosing,
womb left empty
leaving room for ideas
sallow, shallow, hell if I know
what belongs in this cage
vague promises made
no longer fresh, a guest in this flesh,
and time marches on.
Unwinding my bindings,
I loosen the ties
lace by lace, revealing,
finally able to breathe,
deeply, releasing the pressure
until I reach my soul,
the piece of me that knows
truth.