Slowly, feather-light
I circle my fingertips
down the canvas of your back
like a painter.
...
From day to day
on and on
time ticks away
like a carefully planted bomb
...
I dont want to be flesh
I want to be sky again
I dont want to be skin and bone
and teeth and eyes
...
I could stay inside you all day
and never venture out
ignoring the rain tapping on the window
as I splash about in your puddles
...
As I pass you all
on Oxford Street
and see
that vacant
...