Thank you for my bones.
I use my flesh that you once gave me
but we are two creatures that share too much,
dancing with our backs touching one another.
I live with you can, cannot live without you,
but sometimes only without me I feel you can live.
When I am small again in the hugeness of your oubliette eyes,
only then I can see that your creation cups me
like the gentle hands of a sweet, sticky child
who cradles a new bird, the cusp of life in her hands,
and does not want this bird to fly free.
If you cup me, maybe I won't fly away;
perhaps those sticky hands are so desperately warm,
like a smooth uterine wall lulling me to sleep from all senses,
that I would forget why I flew away.
You would do anything for me but
name one thing I've done for you.