I love this one.

Before I write, I warm-up by reading and jotting down lines I love, or by imitating them (Ilya Kaminsky style!), but this whole poem struck me.

“Dysecdysis”
by: Stevie Edwards

The raw morning of
troubled molting–
we say our eyes are cloudy
and ready, say good
riddance. We rough,
we slough and
slough our bodies,
lesions of tender
unskinned. The snake
doctor says this
incomplete shedding
is a symptom of
deeper illness. I can smell
my love making
coffee because this is
what love does
in the morning. We are
nothing, incomplete,
I wish into the scruff
of his beard, rub
his bald head for
luck or love. He
silently slices open
a melon, not quite
ripe but still
food-I take it
in my mouth.  He
says this taking
without joy marks
the beast in me.
I rear my raw
neck back, ready
to strike like
the beast I am.

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