Skin Hunger

Wet. Get me wet. Let me feel
the droplets, a sacrament
that soothes my head.

Head. Trim my head. Cut
the hedge that grows on top.
Scissor sick thoughts at the bud.

Bud. I can bloom. Alone here
in my self-care state. I can sprout 
in places I never imagined before.

Before the alone time. Before 
the skin hunger, sweat and vapor,
anointed by touch and breath.

Breath of a lover, a stranger,
caressing the nape of my neck
in a grocery line.

Line up. Line up when this
blows over. Place your hands
on my cheeks, my arm, my waist.

Waste no time. I will be here,
maintaining myself, painting my nails, 
wearing the sunlight in welcome.