Sort of self-portrait in needle & thread. Fingers shredded with silent hours of tedium. My idea of you only semi-materialized. Transfer of story in a million little stitches. Bittersweet Magdalene, the whole world in bloom between your thighs. Misunderstood. Crucified for love. I wanted to see you. I wanted to show you. Rough embroidery sketch of your naked heart. Your body, so much more than your body. Bare reclamation of your narrative. Your eyes invite and challenge all at once. I half-woke this morning, the liminal space between midnight and dawn, my left hand clutching frantically for the dream-needle I dropped. Stitching you even as I slept. Good Friday and I have you on my mind. Embedded in my thoughts like a crown of thorns. A day of so much sacrifice. These words to you, the embroidery, just an offering for all lost things.