weaving a pattern, on fabric
light to the touch
at first
coarse when felt
a warm coarseness
that strikes deep
into my heart
the gold shining
through my mind
reflecting my memories
absorbing my dreams
swallowed up inside
a hole opened up
around me
resting on a flower
red tinged pink
leaves soft yet
muddled green
wrapped around my
legs, cradled like a baby
fallen into the weave;
a picture painted bright
as a canvas
drawn by the
sun and moon in
ecstasy
– Via
