a loom found

This a poem that is a great distance from completion, but the diary is a great format for revision, so I put it here. It didn't look like this when I found it. I'm not even sure what I was thinking of when I first wrote it, but I've been laboring to make sense of it and this is as far as I've gotten. Not really sure how long it'll stay this way, but it's all out of order and I like the challenge of weaving from broken strands. That, and a bad canvas is just that. Sometimes there is no saving a piece. More than likely this is one of those, so I thought I'd have some fun with it.

Could you save a dance for me?
The rain does. Unfaltering
where I waver- stumbling
through puddles, stomping
mud to keep balance,
till unavoidably I fall.

There is a distance
that I would breach
for a kiss, to taste
honeysuckle lips.
I breathe by catching
glimpses of strands and
creases, laces, buttons.
Tender things like teeth
betrayed by laughter.

Would you watch
or leave
if I let the rain
wash me clean?

Pretty soon I'm gonna start ironing out some story ideas on here too, but I have little practice in fiction, so I'm shy about it.