i spit at the end of the thread,
and push it to the eye of the needle.
it bends, twists, disintegrates, splits,
misses,
beats around the bush,
(with irreverance to the fact that my face is presently most unladylike)
shovels its feet around in the sand,
knots up its fingers,
tugs at its hair,
sniffles,
twists the odd end of tablecloth –
there.
i lost thread.
Sewn Together 
hehehe… nice!!the losing of the thread even though it hangs there in the background!
you have to lick it.
yeah, you have to lick it. and then with your index finger and thumb, twist that saliva-ey thread into staying thattaway.
I do not know how to sew.Oh.Now, most things make sense.
🙂
LOVED it.
Once again in reply to your comment:I never said that! I love writing… Poetry really isn’t my forte so perhaps I might have grumbled a little, especially if a poet like Lemn Sissay was around at that time! 🙂