On Wearing Redress
I dreamed the tangled crush of silk in a fist along my thighs. The whole episode wore your face, the one I could never see because you liked the black blindfold best. Because you liked me face-down with my ass in the air. Because my hair fell from its binding to blind me at just the wrong moment. In the dream, I want to tell you no one’s ever choked on a crimson piece of fabric, but everyone’s watching, waiting to call me a liar through their own red gags. Love, you’re damn useless when you want to be. I once wore your handprints on the pale of my corpse, black and blue and red. Sex and death get all mixed up in my head, and whose fault is that, anyhow? Every time I wear this damn red dress, I want to set things right. But I always end up fingering myself through the fabric, afraid to go outside.
Back of the Envelope
Image taken with iPhone while working.
Words written at the Lair of All Creative Things.
Ears On music by M.
Time Taken six minutes.
Brain On ??? Aroo. It’s Sunday. Not much.