BUZZING FLIGHT, and in it your gaze
turns and stretches and twitches
in this daytime shimmer of wings:
your dress flows from your skin back
into the room of drawn out vowels,
their bows without beginning or end.
Fluttering and fragile between sound
and light, your horizon bulges
into a blood vessel: we stand barefooted
at the open window. Condensation drips,
the saliva samples of one night.
You stick your whispers
in my hair: a clasp
for separate ways.