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Pick up the phone.
(Blessed be the thief, disguised in skin,
And blessed are the fingers that gesture him in.)
Paint the receiver
To the side of the fake, lying at the bottom of the staircase.
Broken elbows, and your coming through the window.
And whoever called night a blanket,
Had never the felt the cold.
And whoever called the night a blanket--
So use your fingers, darling. And
Tear away at the restraints they call the body.
It's the temporary things that rip us apart.
For the body is but a piece of art for you to tear to pieces.

This is history to thievery.
These are only games we play.
Hang up the phone.

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