Anatomy Of A Decision To Be Pure Sometimes

the way we cover flesh with flesh
layer upon layer

imprisoning the divinity of thought
within the core

when they come to seduce you with
colored slices of ligaments and

salmon shades of serum
you shake your head and signal that

you do not more flesh in you for you
have become solid bones

ribs and clavicles, a map of skin
that guides you where the heart resides.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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