between fingertips alight.
I will pull it from you,
that source beyond our understanding.
mold it into my own form.
You cannot stop the inexorable tide
that is woven into you.
And I have burned you from your tapestry-
stitched you into one of my own design.
Your edges frayed,
supported with whispered string stitching.
The pull from both side tightens your crossings.
Inter-lay gold thread and thyme.
Build in decay.
Bury you beneath worthlessness
not even Midas would envy.