Naked

You look down at your hands
Covered in ink, covered in callouses
Stains for a writer who can’t finish
Your face moves in the dark
Still planet, bound by gravity
Searching for the next moment
That will change us, bury us
But there is only skin
And so, we show more of ourselves,
Expose our bodies to the light
Decide we could die like this
On the page, in the tides