Your hand holds my sleek curves straight
Your bow slides down the string of my spine
A touch of a hummingbird’s feather
My skin is as black as pitch
So in darkness I could hide but your tight grip
Makes me feel paradoxically safe

I open myself to the song
It’s trembling yet piercing the air
But for this tune we disappear
I’m a prisoner of the sound
The clatter of irons drowns it but there it is
Echoed by red ribbons on my wrists
I’m nothing but the sound you create
A three-line G vibrating with no ear to listen
Broken in the middle and vanishing as well

 The music stops half-sound, the silence makes me think of spaces between galaxies.
The planets stop moving and hang on radio waves.
The air trembles in freezing fever.

The vacuum is fuller now than the matter has been recently,

One gasp and the world starts spinning again.