weathered weave, simple overlap
ripped of age, tattered end seams
scattered dead dreams
the crow calls before the downbeat.

you had plenty of needles
to stitch my skin together.
you had so much thread
to keep my world cohesive.

i was work between your nimble fingers
i was work to wear away your thimble.
you draped our sleeping napes
inside a duvet of muslin  and washed flax grainsack.

there were 9 buttons at the bottom
no two were the same,
wood, shell, exotic nuts,
to keep it all together.

your work kept us warm on winter nights
your work kept us plush on lazy afternoons
you no longer join me inside this sheet of softened slumber
you no longer repair those threads retaining these buttons snug

i worked your thimble bare
i dulled your needles beyond repair
i have become a cloth of patches
with shredded seams, tattered dreams

at night i now shiver under a sheet of my own kind
my lazy afternoons are now dull within my mind