Poem: Locks Without Keys

Skin hunger in all its luxurious textures.

Locks Without Keys

This constant and unending
yearn for touch,
pleading of skin, softly textured
against skin
Murmured words, warmth of bodies,
The intimacy of waking
to tousled hair,
cast across a pillow,
caressed in sleep

These things consume
my waking hours
Interventions in my day,
locks without keys
Self-exile, yet yearning
for a tearing down,
a deconstruction,
magnificently conceived
Practiced inelegantly,
just behind the eyes

Out of reach and bound away
from knowing,
the blind constraint,
the fear of nakedness
Not the common stripping-off
of clothes,
but the un-layering
of protected tenderness,
shyly revealed
Spoken only in the mind

Blood red thoughts, peeled back
and salted down
Preserved for now against the decay
of rejection,
or acceptance,
or something in between
A tight-wire never-land,
too unsteady to walk
No net, the first step never taken,
turning back

Imprisoning ourselves
within the walls of solitude
Shuffling feet in timeworn pathways
of avoidance,
eyes cast down, sharp edges of life
worn smooth
Waiting for some unknown jailor,
jangling keys,
to come and slide back bolts,
un-tumble tumblers
Poetry Collection: Corner of My Mind
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection

available here in print
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