The wind, it comes now, from a fan above my head
It draws me out like thread through so many needles
And sews me back from my pieces
Pieces torn apart by your
Hungry mouth

So many small spells spelt out with
milk white goosebump skin and
Red as blue flashes pulled out from
Every single touch, every contact
Of fingertips and palms

Theres an eclipse dilating on the moon
Expanding discs, breathing outward
Black and spreading in your eyes
Flown across my neck
And up your chest

You fold me up, and wing me out
But my legs are too heavy to walk
And what is there, what is here
Is a ghost
Of seconds ago.

A space I'll always feel as full when you have left
and I'm alone.