The Seamstress
She sews a little too slow,
Sews my hand around her waistline
And the words together.
She says: You are mine,
I lean my chin on her shoulder,
Sometimes I feel new,
Sometimes I am older,
But she still ties my fingers and our eyes
She gave me a flirt,
We work together for the same,
Holding the strands
And repeating: Je T’aime
I like to pretend we are in Paris,
Sometimes under the rain,
Until she gave me a kiss
With my hands around her waist.
Evenings are lost this way:
Counting raindrops like a clock.
We do it everyday,
She sewed my hands around her waist…
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