Pairs and pairs

Odd pairs and identical ones
he hung upon the walls, keepsakes
of avatars adorned once upon
a time, when clothes were identities
and souls were covers, protecting him
from touch of all kinds –
raw, tender, intimate, indifferent, too close
for comfort, even mere scratches,
and screaming, wailing nail portraits.

He kept them all,
of every hue and fabric,
but shed his one true natural legacy
of birth, cast aside like amniotic sac,
diaphanous, sensitive, vehement, too trusting.
It is easy to hurt in those, you know?
He knew just as well, bloodstains
that trailed his self – an obvious reminder
of how he prised them out with
a fixed smile and force of habit –
to gel in with the world and its many roles;
such a rigmarole.

Pairs and pairs

Even the painting on the wall
had his hand hidden from view
tapping and twisting and calculating in
self-preservation. Until
the other half of the pair arrives;
s/he shall throw the gauntlet down,
challenging him to reveal his vulnerable
fillet of a hand, take it in her equally
naked flesh and all the covers shall drop,
the single shed gossamer skin shall
have found its counterpart, until death
of their camaraderie do they part.