Lizzy Burnam 🐞

Advice from thread to button

If you were seashell, brass, or ivory, 
trust I’d still be there: A knot of cotton thread,
an affable embroidery, laughing
ourselves into stitches. Friend, when I said

mend, I meant repair. But do not mistake
in love for interwoven, or buckle
for embrace,  grasping for gasping for air. 
Remember, this one hooks, that one needles, 

and some tack what others tear. The truth is, 
this closeness never meant I couldn’t leave. 
Careful, please, before you open: Check twice 
the vast, empty space between skin and sleeve.