She is my sight; air and balloon…
This is pain; I can’t give up
She raised my head; corrects my ink.
Busy like bees; she is my loom
All but gain; as she knits me up
The thread of love, is our fabrics.
In fright or flight; I suck balloons..
She is my pleasure; no stitch up
We are bonded, like ankle and wrist.