Fullstops and blue lines

Your last arm has stretched to it's entirety
When looking close, the blue veins show
The pale white paper skin crinkles in force
Folded and unfolded into neat compressed feeling

Let me unfold you, let me hold your feather light grace
My breathing is harsh, but yours I cannot trace
If I had another way, I'd burn my best cards
What good what it do to shatter my winning game

This love of centimeters and inches cannot sustain
Briefly the sky doesn't seem so high, and you don't so far
I train my eye to follow your perfectly placed lines
To this my lungs have taken their last, eyes have seen their first

You are all in my imagination, but the realist thing I know.