In the space
of a moment,
your hands unclasp
and I unfold.

All of this time,
I have dreamt
of lost vultures,
awaiting dusk.

I did not starve
on memories
of flesh: those long
fever dreams.

Through the tempest,
the mind slept
but surely now,
this body knows

What it is, hunger,
and how bones
****** dry, taste
only of dust