The saleswoman shows me where
the clear fishing wire
comes unattached here
and here for when the lines become tangled.
Funny, I have been pulling our wires
for years, unable to find a loose end.
I do not even remember how we started
but I do remember the shirt I bought
when we first met. The black clingy one
with a silver ring at the neck.
In the dressing room
I felt sexy again
as I slid my hands
down my waist as if they were yours,
over my hips, up across my breasts.
We promised: no edges,
let the weeds grow
over onto the walk. We promised:
no ties or knots. No wonder
I have yet to be able to weave our story.
Unpackaged, without instructions,
without a marketing plot, no tangle free dancing,
some kind of endless braid.