You Writhe and Squirm
You writhe and squirm, twist and bend,
Agonized for thirst of air.
And I’m bound by chains onto the ground,
Chained like a slave to a chair.
Still you dance on the edge, the open sill,
The sill open for a shattered erase.
Dressed in beautiful, dressed to kill,
An intoxicating purple tipped lace.
Are you just an idea, a butterfly notion,
Are you more than a theory to lure?
Since every night asleep, all I dream is of you,
Till you vanish in a puff of obscure.
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