SKIN

Skin in the game
of my hoops winning
in my town,
taking my camera lens
over seas
following troops
of an army coup
who attack in a capital city,
we're near bodies of water
relaxed far from shore
motioning the scales
on a filet of sole,
now playing alto sax
by the skin of my music horn
cool as the skin
of my Adam's apple
when I was born
in the slap of my jaw
my life sliding by the law
taking its toll
Eve kissing me in the rain
just missing the train
by the skin of a gut
over a skilled membrane
and notes within a brain
to create a quatrain
but still we are made whole.