You're the epitome of deliberance
diligence shining through your every stitch
carefully selecting your victims with precision
and spinning this web too beautiful to wear.
Deftly now, your fingers blur, and I am transfixed
and simply unaware. I stroke your chin.
Whispering mere words, spinning lies around your ears.
Hoping for the chance to catch you in my own web.
Still, you silently stroke your fabrics and mutter to yourself,
"Fleece, cotton, flannel, leather, pleather, tweed."
My voice is falling upon deaf ears, sewn up so tightly
as I stand behind you, mouthing the words, "Pick me!"
I find my envy in your hands tracing over a mannequin.
Praying to myself that someday I can be the object
that you lavish your attention and thimbled thumbs upon.
So for now, I'll stand still and practice holding my breath.