Thin pin of silver
dives into apricot fabric folds.
I'm stitching you back up.
Piecing you together.
Taut tugs of thin black cord pulls close
peach material that composes you.
I'm darning the tears.
Creating patchworks so sweetly.
Each knot to repair you draws thread
from the berry-bright sutures of myself.
I'm still mending the damages.
Coming undone at the seams.
You are an elegantly embroidered thing
remade by pricked fingers and thumbs.
I've sewn you up with my strings.
Fruitlessly pulled myself to pieces for you.