Seamstress

I try to sew myself
to your left side,
a chain of cross-stitches
kindle along our skin,
an iris at the shoulders,
an apple at the hips,

so our single beats
collide with each
breath, I try to stitch
us chest to breast,
our bodies spools
of indigo and flame.

When the needle
pierces our flesh
threads tangle,
slipknots unravel
and dragonflies arc
from our ankles in flight.