Naked

Bones clothed in crimson
Flesh cloaked in skin
From prying eyes hidden.
In the womb deep within.
Raw pure and clean.
In the beautiful unseen.
Until another's flesh is torn.
And cloaked in love your born.

From diapers and nappies.
Boo boo's and blankets
to tutu's and tiara's,
Sundresses and mascara.
In denim, poplin linen.
We're woven and hidden.
Till before it's known.
We're nearly full grown.

Wear hearts on our sleeves.
Like accessories.
And when their bashed and marred.
We bandage our scars.
Till we find another.
Who sees through the armor,
Things deeper than skin.
And loves the heart within.
And clothed in the other's light.
We don clear bridal white.
And undressed under covers.
Completely clothed in another.
We lie open and undone.
And more than flesh becomes one.

Until the years strip us.
Wear out the bridal tresses.
And in flesh we weave others.
Strapping sons and daughters.
Clothe them in hugs, love, courage.
Undress their pains and baggage.
And when we've clothed them with all.
They will wear their pall.
Clothe us with tears and goodbyes.
As we're clothed with dust and die.

And we meet the master weaver.
The sewer, tailor, savior.
Who sews us into tapestries.
And patchwork woven mysteries.
Who threads of fate seamlessly entwines.
And untangles the twisted lines.
Mends stitches and displays.
Our rips tares and frays.
Till we're nude exposed and free.
To be who we were meant to be.