Trim

There’s something about bare skin
Hidden thus far now in the open
Heathen like some offering
To be touched, pinched and beaten

There’s something about fur
Curls or straight as blades
Frothy from cream that’s lathering
A union of steel flesh

There’s something sans all the covering
Maybe the idea of innocence
Plundered or pure as when born

There’s something there
Always been but never dared