A Plaster Poem by Niall Lawmile

It’s a soft-teased plaster,

leaving puckered skin kisses

every rip of the way.



And the puce blemish

raw with weeping bade farewell

Seams submitting to the tear

and cupid’s cell.



In zipping screams, with flesh-stripped,

virgin and borne

prey to every whisper’d wind

and furrowed scorn.



And in the welt dwell’st a bruise

of ashen base and bluish hue.

Piercing rent the slumber sweet

It’s eyes are you.