oh forever torn and woven back together,
I don't understand the colours of my love
the way they fall and mesh together
the twines twisting and forming buckles and knots
the longing of loving.
the cool practical concern turning my dress into a tunic
the hot fiery passion ripping the fabric from modesty
the warm wool of comfort
the sparse cotton of carelessness
I don't have a shred of love more than I need
or any idea why,
what's woven by one love,
is worn by the other.