this could end at any second.
a breath of dust could sweep you up -
claim your veins and unwind them
'til you've unbound to infinity.
even, a tiny bird could pick at your skin -
tough as it's become, mistake it for a willow tree and get its teeth stuck,
and take you apart as meticulously as you were made up.
even in a minute, we won't have this moment back
you've got work tomorrow and i need to put away my drying, it shows in your eyes and my lack of prying.
there's no bind but here. each photograph is fleeting but here in these words i make you my own.
and until i get your proportions down, i'll keep making like Frankenstein, laying down the bones til i electrify your clone.
