touching

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