Thread breaks the seams
as it dances along your fingertips and into the fabric
it takes form in art, not traditional or too abstract.
A modest and humble artform that you can call your own,
as it pairs with your gentle demeanor against the harsh
red light of the city.

Yes, the soft-spoken words of a tailor.
The velvet, cotton, suede.
Floral patterns to lull me
into a soft daydream.
An escape from the **** and the **** of a city, where
beauty is lost or forgotten or
crushed beneath the boot of the next abrasive king.
You remind me of a time gone by.
A rose-tinted past where I did nothing wrong.
I yearn to learn more of the tailor who gives me hope
in the place I lost mine.
A thousand voices stir and I wonder.
When again will I see you?