If I smear you with ink
Roll your skin across paper
Will I see you more clearly?
Will all the things I no longer notice
Cracks in your facade
Valleys in your depressions
Loom black (and inky black)
Not in relief but intaglio
On this clean white surface of mine?
Will your ordinary secrets
The ravages time has uncovered
And recovered
And uncovered again
Be laid
Bare on the page?
Or do I know you already
Do I wear you on my skin
Does skin even matter any more
When we both have skin in the game?