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Stitches

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He puts me back together

With his big square fingers

Knits me with his needles

Turns me inside out to admire his handiwork

Who would imagine he could much such a fine seam?

I am sewn so tight

But still a Frankenstein of stitches

We're so used to them

We forget they're not there for beauty's sake

But necessity's

Holding together the ragged pieces

Of what seems to me the bodies of other women

He's not a liar

That doesn't mean the world's not full of liars

He's not a cheater

But we all know the world is full of cheaters

The world is full of boys

There's nothing boyish about him anymore

It doesn't mean he's never been all those things and more

It's only that it's all been burned away

It's only that that fool is dead

Burned by his own mistakes

Grass fires the only waves he knows

His hands unhooking my bra

I pull his face up to kiss me

By the bolts in his neck