A Loose Thread


We sit

And pick, at the delicate edges

This tapestry of ours adorned with such wonder

Filled with passion

Depicting all signs of beautiful life

Yet still 

We sit with sharpened needles

Poised and ready to attack any slight blemish

Ready with clambering fingertips

To pinch

And pull,

to pounce on the slightest stray thread

Eager to draw the cotton through our teeth

And break any notion of unravelling

Though we both know that I cannot resist

The lure of the loose thread

The silent pop as the loop sinks and disappears under the weave

Destruction by my own hand

Is never as sweet as simply enjoying our sumptuous existence

Yet still I roll the silver thread around my finger

And lightly tug


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