I have that poem, stuck in my head,
It is sitting there among many words,
It seems to me that it is hidden, hidden between pleats and folds.
It goes in recess and suddenly it comes back,
it flirts with my senses but in words I feel it\'s lack
Why not show or say, what it came to say?
Why sit there provoking, smiling, turning back and going away. I can see it as in ruffles, I perceive it as it flares
Not sure if it is a poem, could be a draft of a new dress. Between writing and designing, things get mixed thin, bleeding together inside, my feelings can not win. It is a whim of emotions, almost painful I must say, I think I have no choice, but wait another day.