As the Day

[just mercedes]

I need to borrow her skin.
A priceless lend of youth's lesson: [ loan?]
time cannot be cured,
nor should it, because heaven [nor should it be?]
is always a home
where God waits with taut skin.

I'd be just another passing face;
the cold hand that once [face or hand?]
chilled and burned her fleeting flesh.
A tourist scared of the dark,
but sometimes we need the dark to see
that the days are our executioner.

I need to borrow her skin
to watch her age
and be the day, killing,
dying as the day.

I like the way the poem turns in on itself at the end, the duality of being in her skin, and at the same watching her likened to being both executioner and victim.