Slender threads of uncut longing
anchored to my wrist
uncleverly perched in a cockeyed fashion,
as I sew myself closed.
the shabbiest quilt,
built for comfort not admiration.
Uneven stitching certainly, but strong string.
It sits finely upon a bed
and shoots looks of desperate pleading
wanting to hear the beat
of two instead of single.
Warm thoughts that awaken
recalling duvet covers
and peeking curls
that seek clever fingers.