Undone

That tongue of yours is silver when you speak

and silver when the speaking’s done.

Those eyes have a look that turns my quick

to silver and proves my body’s not my own

but away on loan to your fingers, bold

in their skilful wheeling and their dealing.

Your mouth the alchemist, I am gold,

blown through the eggshell of the ceiling

into a clear Murano sky.

All that goes with me is the scent of you

which could be the scent of me, for there is no I

or you, flung as we are to glassy blue.

    See how well I am undone

    with one touch of your silenced silver tongue