where this skin weeps, without words

did you know your skin could weep?
when every pore seals itself
and then springs open,
when every hair falls to its roots
and then stands tall and separate,
when every breath
seeps through helplessly
and is then held in a timeless pause,
when silence is killed softly
with incessant stabs of scrutiny,
and then peels the grime and scars
off this grotesque flesh,
when nothing else matters,
but the sound of breath
and fire and earth and water,
flowing between
here and there,
around and everywhere,
taking me back to myself,
where this skin weeps,
without words.