If I am to weave the thread
spooled around the songs of your heartbeat,
the resulting cloth shall be enough
to unfurl the emotions you are secretly mending.
If I am to sew the melody onto every lyric,
the cloth shall take the shape of dreampatches
that went through a common suppressive needlehole.
With the gentle movements of your sad fingers,
even the breadth of wasted moments
was afforded the right measure-
enough to put life back
to my lonely, meaningless nights-
enough to clothe the nudity
of my grieving soul, yet again.
Our shared moments may just be fibers
for we wasted ropes of time.
On the heaps of lint-like uncertainty,
my rhymes still, surprisingly, match your rhythm.
Thank you for patiently, lovingly
waiting for my return.
