The skin touches, the flesh burns;
jerks from fearing singes,
fragile is its thought.
inclination presses on, confirmed,
planted by sure reason.
smothered in bright chrome,
dare again before it’s cold.
confused, our complex circuit
of stirred up reaction.

again, such tempered seasons
contest our barest struggles,
unfolding truths which lead astray
our most transparent of ways.
battle we must, such delicate skin,
choosing truth or impulse stains,
tear me from the surface brim,
either way, the play can strain,
choose again each whittled day.