Not hour by hour, one by one,
But by a swift series of blades,
Deep and true into this skin,
This net that suffocates and shuts us in.
Your love letters slipped through the first little tear,
Then I cut my way out to the open air.
Every little feather cut
Cost a drop of blood in that joyful flood.
Now I stand on the open sea
My salted wounds enlightening me.
And every luminous wave that towers,
Leaves me gasping in a foam of flowers.