floral-patterned still life

leisurely, she ever-so carefully,
guides her gentle fingers
like needle threaded through
aesthetically-fashioned fabric patterns.

her fingers string together
a minuscule mass of letters,
which will surely render
some set of sweet words.

(a set which is believed
to say more than is spelled.)

observing from my place of residing,
my eye's lens and snapshot feature
photograph her discreet idiosyncrasies,
as she crochets the impending.

that smile in the process of her deed,
contains the light which day conducts.
the imminent phrase, sure to inveigle me,
is truly birthed for my eyes alone.

(the eyes to have been noticed,
as smokey and calm.)

time has not much passed until she pieces accordingly
quite the impatiently awaited statement,
soon to be audaciously framed
in some kind of floral-patterned still life.

transferring the final draft
to my open palm,
i smirk at her beautifully hand-picked words:
"you're mine, and i love you."

(and did i yet agree to such informing?
yes, surely, i did such.)