You worried away
at my threadbare soul
until it unravelled
in your hands.
This is you now,
you whispered,
laying out a single thread:
a cardiograph flat-line.
Uncertainty worked a pause;
thrived on stony silence,
drawing glances
from dead eyes.
Deft feather strokes
from your porcelain fingers
shaped waves,
reviving an unravelled soul.
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