Behind the left ear
Swallowed in the hollow of your foot
Now hiding on the inside of your wrist,
your little bird,
inked in blue.
The nuanced ridges it inhabits,
A gentle game; I feign
a wandering hide-and-go-seeker,
an ignorant peeker,
all the while singing your song
I know the lyrics by heart.
sliced into your skin.
The product of an incision,
like all else you are made of.
My bird is somehow
flying off my flesh,
crippled wings still faster than my grip.
Bird-tamer, will you lend me yours?
Is there enough to share?