he spun words into silk for her to drape across her body, he had nothing more to offer her, alas, the words would never be enough

there was always someone better, more deft at weaving, more able at stringing turns of phrase into works of art she deserves

so the fool did one last act of stitching, this time a silvery thread through his lips to keep the insignificance in silence

she spent days, minutes and a lifetime wishing his verses were about her, yet she knew better, she was cotton and denim to his velvet and linen lyric

she knew she would never be enough to fill his words with anything savage or graceful but it felt so believable when he’d let them cover her like she was precious and human

she watched wide-eyed as he sent the thread through his lip with nary a needle, she winced a little with each drop of blood until they were sealed up tight, thankful, for his sake, he finally realized her immateriality but grateful that she had been briefly covered in his moments

EC fills the world with the purest, primal poetry. Her turn of phrase is second to none. She embodies in her words what I can only dream of expressing.