I’ll unstitch myself

for you, watch myself weave

through spindle and spine, I’ll wrap

around your mannequin form. I’ll speak

 

to you through the fabrics’ gentle

movements, I’ll whisper my way across

your skin—I’m moving in or through you

 

and wouldn’t you like to know which? The song

will unwind us further, so slow it starts to feel

silent, your shaky breath attempting

 

to keep rhythm.  Sound can be slowed

in so many gentle fashions. Let me show you the first—