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.