Those ribbons you wear,
always to cover; never to bare,
that delicate sweet skin,
purpling sin,
Lines on your flesh,
and with you I mesh.

Those ribbons you weave,
out of that healing meat you cleave,
It exalts me those feelings you feel,
Carved with your exacto glass kitchen steel.
It spatters on the floor a tale that your sleeves will never tell.
It's a trance, joyous, for a spell.

Those ribbons you twist,
twisting until they burst in a fine mist,
It is no lie,
that with you I tie,
It is no tale,
etched in this ribbon's jail.