It had been
one of those
microdot nights.

I woke up feeling
like I had run
three marathons.
All I could remember
was feeling good
& flesh-blurs,
those patterns of
sweet movement
etched on the inside
of my aching skull.

The bedframe
had been destroyed
and gossamer
floated from my mouth.
Magenta lip-prints
made a trail
down
from the middle
of my chest
to other sensitive-places.
It appeared as if
I had pulled out
all of her tail feathers
in the place she was lying,
a true fairy in repose,
I drowned in her spirit.