ONCE A TAILOR

wear me out, make a tailor

of what's left of me, so there is no

try-on! aching and hurting skin

makes the body undo the stitches

I was a tailor once, in meagre times

I had a shop, my first shirt

flew from my skin too soon, such desire

now foreign to my heart

cut me out some rain from your skin

right where we grew apart, those scissors

left the memory rusty! underground

the button, no skin but solitude

desire's now oversized