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~
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