strands

Little strands billowing in the breeze.
Innocuous.
These are my strands.
Pieces of myself that have come loose.
Pieces of myself that have yet to be tied.
Sunlight catches them in golden hues.
Enchanted are these pieces of me.
Dancing in rhythmic waves so joyfully.

Little strands billowing in the breeze.
Tickle my legs, I scratch. Scratch and scratch.
Ruby lines left behind on pale pink thighs.

Little strands billowing in the breeze.
Tempt the curious.
Tug, tug they do, unraveling my dress and leaving me exposed, ruby leg lines and all.

Little strands billowing in the breeze.
My beloved dances between them, taking them gently in his hands, blessing them with his compassion.
These are my strands, he reminds me.
Pieces of myself that have come loose.
Pieces of myself that have yet to be tied.
He shows me how the light catches their frayed edges, how the strained and stretched pieces still radiate with remarkable color.

Little strands billowing in the breeze.
My beloved tangles himself in each one, sweetly, adoringly, lovingly.
These are the only pieces of me he can hold on to because the rest, he says, "is made of light."