Sober -by my genius of a twin.
We fell out of our skin.
It was uncomfortable, as you can imagine,
staring at each other with no skin.
We scratched out a conversation,
like a game of noughts-and-crosses
in the dirt beside a school bus-stop.
The previous night’s tall stories
gave way to stilted words, and
the sun was fluorescent,
buzzing and flickering
as it burned our bleeding, skinless flesh.
This was awkward.
I wrung my hands. You smoked.
And we both stretched the tendons in our faces
as we politely pretended to forget
that we weren’t wearing any skin.
Or any clothes.