Great big supple sack of skin,
you don’t get enough credit.
I treat you like a waterproof coat,
but you are an organ,
as sacred as my heart
and as prized as lungs.
You suffer the lack of mystery,
stitched to my outside,
subject to indignities
like exfoliants and hot wax.
You sweat and mend
and I thank you
by dunking you in creams
to stunt your path through time
instead of seeing your stretch marks
and wrinkles as proof
that I am lucky
to still be here
in your elastic
embrace.
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