thrum

cinched at the ribs,

i am tightly bound

in cloth doing little

to hide the beating

heart;

familiarity is exhilaration.

when each moment’s replica

is trod in new desire, glint

in the eyes, smile,

read the faint pattern of sparks,

parsing

always parsing the thread,

gleaning,

if today we find ourselves

woven in new unspoken

roles—if today we feel

the textile should be stripped,

spun in flesh.