she misses a stitch;

i find dogs and
martyrs in the
ceiling and wonder out
loud where we
could find some good
stuff, some good junk,
some good weed.

she misses a
stitch and curses before
worrying out loud
that she's corrupting me;
making me a
criminal.

i half frown and
half smirk and
pull at the ends
of her creation;
her baby, her masterpiece.

she swats my
hand away and i
say, you can't
corrupt me any more
than i can
corrupt myself.
and
i play with her
ohso soft ohso
asymmetrical hair.

she misses a stitch
and curses.

i smile.