Behind the left ear

Swallowed in the hollow of your foot

Now hiding on the inside of your wrist,

your little bird,

your love,

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.


Such flight,

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?