unravel me to the swell of the moonlight.

from the threads of my lashes i weave my night, perhaps a fishnet bounding the legs. perhaps a veil hindering the breath. perhaps a blanket smothering the dream.

no.

not heavy enough.

there is more of me to spare, the air is ripe and our tears are young. gut my love on a daily. harvest my rest on a nightly. dissemble my consciousness perpetually.  

no.

not rough enough.

i am reconstructed as the sun slithers in, a dewy, melted apology filling in space between the limbs. what i lose in mass i replace in volume. grow loudly. this kind of volume.

no.

not sly enough.

one day i will be small enough that i can be made into nothing, and nothing can be made of me.