My Seamstress

I orbit you and it 

means so much to me

I brush your palms

pluck at your fingers

your warmth and aroma

quietly lingers, 

I breathe you in

your taste is tart

cutting like a razor,

piecing my heart

....... it hurts,

my blood is love

and it’s got me 

bleeding good,

I know I’ll survive

and that’s understood,

because

you are my stitching

and you keep repairing

all the wounds 

the so called

experts missed, 

you are my seamstress,

stitching 

and bandaging me up

nursing every cut,

pulling the thread tight,

and 

through these

months of healing 

I see you getting 

progressively worse

and now I’ve become 

your nurse, 

it’s scary how fast

the roles reverse,

now I am trying to heal 

the unhealable,

preying to a false God

for some kind of miracle

but that ain’t coming

and now time 

is running

away from us,  

I may well be damaged

but you keep me alive

it’s hard to deny,

so

what’s going to happen

when you die?

I guess I will 

die with you