A thin skin is all the wall
between me and she.

She is angelic.
Her face glows in the porthole
illuminated by galley lights,
our supper laid out behind her.

I must look demonic.
My silhouette backlit by cold stars,
face bloated, eyes protruding.

I push.
She pushes back.

Her tears flow.
My tears boil

and air hisses
blissfully
never caring

that a thin skin is all the wall
between me and she.

---

John Borneman hits the poetry muse when he is not "wrangling statistics" during his day job. He has been published in magazines such as Star*Line, Flashquake, and The Magazine of Speculative Poetry. His work has been nominated for the SFPA Rhysling Award, and accepted by the Arts Council of Indianapolis for their "Shared Spaces/Shared Voices" contest. Visit his website.

This poem grew from the phrase, "a thin skin is all the wall between she and me." That phrase and its implication of the mirror images of two people, one inside and secure, one outside and dying, was the basis of this poem.