A single strand,
it weaves itself around
the empty space that circumvents my alarm clock.
The monotonous noise reminding me
of the day's responsibilities overshadowed
instantly by a thread.
A piece of you,
an accidental gift
more personal than breath.
Things unintentional are more severe
than those thought and poured over.
Delicate and strong,
this proteinacious silk
stands up to the rigors of my examination.
A tangible illustration of your life,
now,
with me,
no one can have that but me.
In reality more precious than words
or emotions that you would offer freely.
This piece of time,
that you have let slip from your grasp,
only to settle on my nightstand.
The gift of a person,
a soul,
cannot be matched by any other.
This is what we live for,
what we hang on to,
a single thread.