It doesn’t have to hurt
for me to like the feel
of shallow skin torn from deeper depths.
Not all cuticles run so deep
but removal
makes the edges of my being warm.
I might go to professionals
who tinker and snip
but I don’t wish for nails that are better kept.
I wish for jagged, uneven splits
to be savored and fantasized about
to be at climax torn.
See, even knowing that you got your nails done, I read this the first time and got a completely different meaning, mood, and setting out of this poem.
The first three lines especially. That can apply to love, to self-mutilation, to self-preservation, to simply surviving.
In the last line referencing climax, a subtle sexuality, and then the word “fantasized” above.
This is sort of similar to my recent post, “Bite.” Pain and pleasure, baby.
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