/An Introduction of the Author (The Singer Above)./

Dissect me with your sharp eyes,

yes please, across my chest, to let the breeze

that caressed your hair- cool my spine.

Until then, oxygen is an old cripple

crawling in my lungs.

My heart: the beggar on the steps

of your mansion and it wouldn't mind

the taste of your feet.

Crush, I beg of you, crush!

my young bones, oil my joints,

and ignite it with your tongue of fire

or better yet, use the smallest spark as

I weld slow with you, my irises dilating from the dark.

Cut my wings, for your pillow to be plum-

at night, rest on my burning muscles

for warmth.

And when you leave,

Leave breadcrumbs in your direction

and I'll fight the birds circling,

above me- for I starve for your

affection.