Skin Deep

There by the aircraft isle
a young mother in tight jeans
Leans beside her baby girl
to pick up a fallen doll…
and at her reach, the blue
of her brief jacket lifts.
My glance furtively shifts
Flirting with the fleeting view

Of the small of her shapely back
but lovely, olive, then
by a realization of her naked-skin–
I shyly bend over my empty book.
That teasing notion, touch
transferred from eye to hand
six miles above the land
has seized me so much

Gone by my adolescent state
when skin was everything
ecstatic, every sting
relieved by an exciting date,
but now it’s not so clear
The mother across the aisle
In her space with an infinite smile
Winter golden pristine pure.

That too is skin, as is
the hand that holds my pen
depicting this little scene
like notes for an altarpiece.
Often I think our skin
is deep enough for love.
We wear it like a glove
until we wear it thin.

( a David Mason adaptation )