Film

Skin and Film Sestina

Behind the dripping strips of web,
A traitor licks my skin.
Pushing through the lovely bones,
His touch is filled with whispers.
The scattered sounds are filled with air,
They long and speak with hope.

A simple fragile kind of hope,
To forge a tangled web.
Long gone and swept away with air,
Can?t bond together more than skin.
To God now all his cries are whispers,
Some hollow as his bones.

His spider's heart down-turned to bone,
Still captures all his hope.
In song his hopes for life are whispered,
Here now slipping through this webbing.
Centered on my finger skin,
Brought on the back of air.

But all his grasps return with air,
Not one as strong as bone.
No touch of yours shall reach my skin,
That?s what these walls all hope.
Yet something buried in this web,
Still makes me hear your whispers.

Moving from your hands notes whispered,
Suffocation in my ears of air,
Shinning to brighten this webbing,
Chilling me from moving in these bones.
Selfish birds all push on me your hope,
And I want more than just perspiring skin.

Now my skin aches for your skin,
But I resist the smallest whisper,
Because you?ll never change, just hope,
Like the path of leaves in air,
Fraying till they fly as bones,
Hollow as the lace and web.

Now as my skin is freed and aired,
Tentative whispers against my bones,
Hopes intertwined inside this web.

Credit to Jocelyn Meadows for poetry and photo.