the shedding of skin.

parched lullabies seem jarring, the gentle persuasion an assault,

mute understanding, reeks of decay,

under this skin in which i stay. 

dreams of moulting,

shedding the hubris of crafty words,

flushing away all famished rhymes,

in this world obsessed with nothing but gold, silver, nickels and dimes.

ripping the fibre of an ink-stained past, 

far too late now, for the die has been cast,

and all those honey-soaked kisses,

though breathless then,

seem now, destined,

never to last.