needle
stitch, missed
a seam
between
a time or two
and we
have seen
what comes of that:
a suit
of clothes
that fit
like leprosy, that fits
like epileptic teeth
fit into tongues
til pried apart
so stuff a rag in it,
my love. I've heard enough
to beat
my heart
to sleep.
Each night, our needlework
undoes what dawn does to the day,
and leaves
us
stretched,
exhausted.
Worn.
Cast off, we close the wound
and weep. But in the dreamforsaken dark,
some pitter-patter feet dance in
like storybook ex machinas -
they make the bed we wake up in,
and dawn does what it does to day.
And you see what you saw in me.
Tonight, let's stay up past our time
and catch them in the act!
Shall we?
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