my pink skin

my pink skin
so white and flushed
with rose

like a delicate blush of red thoughts
pulled up from below
by white grape and
frozen alcohol
- a wine much too cold
from sitting between two rocks
in an icy spring

my skin, pink

these soft and downy cheeks
but bristled further down my jaw
by beard of wiry rust

and my eyes say just
what you've been thinking:

"this arrogant son of a bitch
- in the moment of this intimate picnic -
is mentally composing a poem
about his pink skin!"

"his lovely,

soft

pink skin"

and we kiss