Flight and Fancy Frocks

There you are! With a fine splintered needle sew me my wings in taffeta; iridescent oil dripped and slick to the psyche's touch Comb my breath back to the inhalation of stars and sew at mercury speed It's with a blanket of orbiting atmospheres that you cover yourself It's with a plausible grin that I sting at the needle's touch Gold touching spine You touching mine- and the rest is explained in my shadow growing smaller as I fly; trails of rainbow juice and golden string from where you snipped me free~