Skin scrubbed clean and glowing
after a shower, the scent of shampoo.

Lying in bed on a winter morning
with the baby asleep between us.

Our fingers pressed together
in the dark of a movie theater.

The sound of laughter. Always,
the sound of laughter.

Walking downtown
and back home again.

Night by the river.
What you said, what I said.

I’ll bind these things together,
trim the loose threads, work until

the separate pieces
form one piece—skin-soft,

yet durable, too, because
I mean it to last you forever.

Leah Browning

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-patchwork-poem/