310 and 311
A skin that’s not my own I always wear
except when I’m alone and free to be
what I think is the best of me to bare
to no-one—for I’m all alone with me.
The second skin grew slowly over me
after some verbal scaldings on the first.
My undertones remember ruefully
the words that tore it when it was re-versed.
They said I was a mean chameleon
who showed his every thought through every pore.
So socially utilitarian,
they said, and so I hid it evermore.
So now the taught, taut, thoughtful skin wears me,
of conversational dishonesty.
~~~
May there come soon a day when I am not
a name my own and separate from thee.
When my name lives with all the things you’ve got,
and your possessions hold, among them, me.
When my house is synonymous with thine,
and no-one says one name without the next.
Each other for each other is a sign,
one word thence signified in every text.
Make so thine inclination to the court,
and you will find no attorney for me.
No man will make a claim, or claim a tort
in binding me forever beside thee.
In all things that you have already got,
let me, at least, never be with you not.