The Sun

I’m unraveling
in his calloused fingertips

There’s something
in the way that he grips
the threads of my body
silver tongue knotting
in mine

A tradesman
perfecting his craft
He’s pulled every string until I’m
unwoven and spooling
liquid thighs pooling
And
my body
is a life raft

I’m drowning in him
Fighting the intoxication
Gasping for air
Grasping and clawing and
choking on tendrils of tangled hair
He fills me and I succumb
to sweet sedation

I swear that I’m fine but
I’m coming undone

And I think
that I’m flying
too close to the sun