Untie these knots; unbind these silken cords,
and let my heart beat freely. Let the blood
return to sleeping limbs. Remind my skin—
re-teach me how to feel. 

                                           Just let me breathe,
and I will take you in, your breath and mine
entangled—intermingled—each exhale
a testament to what we have enjoyed:
my name upon your lips, your roughened voice 
the spindle ‘round which my whole self is wound.
I am unraveled; we are both unbound.

So let us weave the threads of our desire
into a tapestry of wants and needs
and promises. Let passion guide our hands
upon the loom. 

                               We call this pattern love, 
my love; it lingers in our blood and bones.
We memorize each strand, the warp and weft,
that when we come undone, when we forget
how it is made, we loose the threads, unweave
our careless hearts, unwind our tangled skein:
Untie, unbind, unravel, weave again.

A little blank verse for the yeah write poetry slam.

16 thoughts on “Reweaving

  1. Cyn K says:

    This makes me realize how I always feel like each line has to stand alone. I love the way you pull me through your poems by having thoughts continue onto the next line without losing the rhythm.


    • Christine says:

      🙂 That’s exactly what I was trying to do! Iambic pentameter can feel so stilted, especially when each line ends a sentence or phrase. I find it reads so much more naturally if the lines get broken up.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. innatejames says:

    *This* is the poem you’re not happy with? Shit. I’m about to never write again. If I can get my iambic pentameter to parse out as naturally as you did here, I’ll be happy.


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