Free Cee Herringbone Hemmed

HERRINGBONE HEMMED Surely she was a tailor born Altering me with her alluring nature And silken thread coaxed through the eye of a needle Each stitch rich in rewards of grandeur Every inch sewn by a hand with instinctual care And woven when the woman willed it so I stood before her as she measured my frame Precision was of primary concern As her amber eyes scanned the canvas of a man The way an artist falls upon a scene he feels compelled to duplicate Be it a landscape, a lake, or the loveliness of Lucerne I was to become her masterpiece signed by a master Prepared with prismatic proficiency And painted with pristine probabilities While she brushed my torso with her cheek Hemming my herringbone while heightening my hopes A pin placed properly where cloth kissed leather A reminder of where to lay her thread As thoughts of second nature filled my head I became hers to adore and adorn For surely she was a tailor born But too often a model rebels against the stitch And points the pin to providence A fate that prohibits precision And dulls the needle with which she sews While the cloth she claimed was cashmere frays An unrecognizable remnant of ruin As silken fabric becomes gabardine While twill lays tattered and torn Because surely she was a tailor to mourn © 2006.…free cee!