Disgustingly doe-eyed,
i spin thread after thread,
silky, supple, in swathes,
begging to be stroked,
s(m)oothed and woven..
if the threads end
up tangled and knotted,
in clumps, warted,
it’s your unstroke,
absent and ignorant.
Carefully coquettish,
i coax words
to arouse, tease,
tempt but no more..
if my words fall flat,
letters littered on
the ground at your feet,
if they get trampled,
it’s your feet,
unseeing and slipper-y.
Yes, i’m dutifully disgruntled,
enough to last, i hope,
me the week,
keep me off the dole
of tiny flecks
petering out
of your tight-fisted soul..
Even as i scrawl,
am i negating hopes
of retrieving myself,
threads, letters and all run afoul?
@cloudborne, andy:
glad to see the likes 
@Neetika, turkischland:
thank you 
@solingenpoet:
delighted to see the like 
Niice