Mixing florals, mixing patterns,
I want to wrap myself in prints
and create paisley damask distractions.
Textiles tailored for straightjackets.
The busy shapes fail to tessellate;
they cannot fool my senses.
I wrap myself in prints
as fingers wrap themselves around
the cross-stitch strings inside organs,
plucking fingerprint beats
and pulling pulling gentle persistence,
undoing what was sewn.
Beneath cotton hibiscus bruisesI see the imprint of you.