Replaying your hands, your hands undoing,
battling its own revision, changing it back,
unwinding and unfurling, stretched so taut
to pull the rein -- when's the last time we ran
like a horse? I taste freedom and it's so sweet.
Now stranded, still in defense of the aftermath.
Cloaked in fear, do I dare perjure myself?
I challenge the trapezist to dive deep sea,
let wuthering days send me far away.
Yet water leaks from my engine-heart,
two fingers push, up down up down up down.
A carmine dawn is cut open through your pincer-nail.
Whisper your words like honey. Thick and sweet,
the distance required to keep it secret.