iA


Silk

Glissando the small
shimmer of my sashay.
Ssh, or you’ll miss me.

You’ll miss me,
the cool dip as I slip
from your fingers:

the one that got away.
A miraculous fish,
all glide and guggle,

as I dive into my sea
of troubles.
You’ve only
skimmed the surface.

I wear this, precious gift
of industrious worms,
so I’m engrained

in your memory, like
the green light, red room,
the geisha gloom

of black silk    slick
under your fingers
as you undo those

fiddly little buttons
one by one, and open me:

a Pandora’s box,
a bag of tricks,

a billet-doux
addressed to someone else.

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