Fingering through my wardrobe

How Memory Pulls

Seeing stitches popped

ripped Stop

From the boys

The boys.

Oh feeling the teal tools, spun cotton spools

buttoning purple jewels

over nights of the velvet fool

nights of skinny nought

towering Platform height

By the pool.

The plausibility

of a permanent pause has me shaking

stilettos

woahs

pacing apartment

to and fro to man to

man to back

to back

stacking notches

fucking smacked

smoking what I see in the closet

low and racked straight gaze up, grounded

hands softened free..

missing display days

lost in

what comes between

unseamed scenes of me

so wanting to be we.

Bossed by the boys

the boys.

Velveteen dick friend

oh, boy I tried on once,

you were just a boy

A body I lied on once

a face that I could write on

Once

Spinning yarns

In language only I could read

-H I G H-

poetry

smoothing out wrinkles worn around your frown so mean,

why float the ever string anyway?

Missed, unclean,

But,

I’m waking up.

Resizing memories

in pulled over sleeves

Oh,

the fabricated release.

Seizing seven arms

in seven days.

yes,

letting go is easygreen

sucking shallow,

wrapping time

in silk stitching

sinching brain waves

with lazy grace

Yes,

So to unveil without trace

this blanket mask I weaved

before your face.

Yes,

Letting go of new skins

In a week of sin

Is easy

Waking up to new smells

In the sheet sweating detox

of summer heat swells.