Cross-Stitch (v. 1)
You are my favorite tangle,
and there are no fingers
strong enough to unravel this weave
we've needled together.
So, tonight I'm sleeping with a blanket
I found packed in cedar, threadbare
and torn. I chose this one for it's length,
it's tattered complexion, the sounds it makes
dragging across the wooden floor.
Our patches are still stuck together
and for tonight, they drape over the back
of an antique chair like a winter's coat
caped over shoulders, and it looks brave
with it's fringes drooped, fingering the floor.
Tomorrow, I will replace it to my bed
like it never left the touch of my legs,
and lying there, it will fall asleep
in it's natural heap of safest seams.