The Seamstress

She sews a little too slow, Sews my hand around her waistline And the words together. She says: You are mine, I lean my chin on her shoulder, Sometimes I feel new, Sometimes I am older, But she still ties my fingers and our eyes She gave me a flirt, We work together for the same, Holding the strands And repeating: Je T’aime I like to pretend we are in Paris, Sometimes under the rain, Until she gave me a kiss With my hands around her waist. Evenings are lost this way: Counting raindrops like a clock. We do it everyday, She sewed my hands around her waist…