If you expect lace to be a
delicate mess you
would not see what you’d
expect as it could have been a web
of threads woven by hand or a
thousand machine heads or a
criss-crossing line along and across the
spine of a foot or the
wings of a fly from a fictional
book or the flick of
a wrist turning your drink
into a risk you gladly
sip and fall
into a dream filled with dance
and lights and a
chance at a fanciful flight
but
then comes the night
and you hold your seams
together even as you
slip it off your shoulders no more
delicacy only rubble and ruin
remain as it floats
to the floor and you
stumble and fall
into the cruel
hand of slumber
feather softness no more
than a web of threads
and linen criss-crossing
over your spine and
you dream
of flying
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:36 AM UTC
If you expect lace to be a
delicate mess you
would not see what you’d
expect as it could have been a web
of threads woven by hand or a
thousand machine heads or a
criss-crossing line along and across the
spine of a foot or the
wings of a fly from a fictional
book or the flick of
a wrist turning your drink
into a risk you gladly
sip and fall
into a dream filled with dance
and lights and a
chance at a fanciful flight
but
then comes the night
and you hold your seams
together even as you
slip it off your shoulders no more
delicacy only rubble and ruin
remain as it floats
to the floor and you
stumble and fall
into the cruel
hand of slumber
feather softness no more
than a web of threads
and linen criss-crossing
over your spine and
you dream
of flying
