What Flesh Denies

Precious, is the view that flesh denies.

Hearing only this heartbeat, time repeatedly serves the thought of freedom.
Questions arise for the existence of skin. A partition between souls.
Multiple emotions join forces, raising goose bumps; dilating pupils.
A dripping chill edges down as the layers are removed.
Cautiously the soul is bared.

Humble, is the heart for housing a soul.

There's disturbance on the faces of the moral passersby.
Their fluttered beats appeal to fingers within for warmth.
Only, they're just a cage; inanimate.
Without life they're fragile and useless.
Manufactured respectfully for appearance.