The Thread

Funny, the muses neglected to visit while you slept with your head on my shoulder, while my fingers wrote wordless sonnets in your hair, while we unfolded the rich and mysterious discovery of each other like a heavily embroidered cloth but tonight while the lamp burns, while regret presses his heavy head against me, while you sleep in solitude in a room on the other side of town, a hesitant cadence a string of words begins to stitch the unravelled cloth, attempting to complete what we could not.