These days, I find myself in cotton robes,
arms stuffed in straight-jacket sweaters,
deodorant lining my untanned skin.
The dust of my porcelain tears stains my pillow white,
and I spend nights circling my imperfections
with a chlorine pen.
You tease the bleached bones I show you,
so I push them underneath the covers and let
you batter beauty into bed sheets,
shamed hands still pinned to my side.
I've never loved a man before
for who I had to turn off all the lights.
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Canary word: Present
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Two little things: side should probably be sides, and the last line should read:
As for the poem itself, it's as delicious as it is unmemorable.