I like it    I don't like it

You are a razor blade

You are precision-cut

You are a stare sharp as the tack in my eye?

At rest in my veins

[Your pulse in my neck?]

As sharp-edged as questions the time I have left

And so you are on my mind.

I need a burning stake

I need a piercing dart

I need something as hot as it is sharp

And I need to bleed

I need to burn

I need a sure thing

I need a sure thing

And you are a mystery to me

You are a paper bird

Folded and folded and creased

And bent and shaped from a five dollar bill

It's priceless to me

And never spent

It hangs from a ceiling fan over my bed

And so you are on my mind