Skin Poem by Mykonos Poetry Club

Sun blasted bags, throned on leather carcasses hold up the withered mirrors of heaven,
Contoured, wrapped and sagged around gaunt cheeks,
Ashamed, abused and bleached by fire,
Etched, torn, worn and scabbed,
Thrown, blown, desired and despaired,
A film of beauty, a film for the impaired.
A suit worn by dictators, slaves and the damned alike,
Their Rose mountains gabbed from park to scowl,
Bridging minds with talk of Byron and howl,
Making the merry go round, sucking turpentine,
Freeing the suit of all convictions and giving in to the murk soil.