My Friend

My heart is but a fiddle
On which my friend plays a tune.

But sadly I’m not in it.

My breath is just a whisper
With which my friend sings a tune.

But as it turns it, I can’t hear it.

On my arms hangs a fantasy
In my hair is wound a dream.
My fingertips drip happiness
That you gave to me.

But in the hollow of my feet
In the cup of my palm
In the parting of my lips
Is the emptiness,

you left in me.

Who are you?