her silhouette an hourglass.
No need for a corset—
her nipples rose for any occasion,
no boning or underwire required.
So why waste time?
clumsily navigate hooks and eyelets
in the back seat,
when all she wants
is to wear his hands like a belt.
of his fingers with hers,
so much more satisfying
than the to and fro dance
of satin ribbon strings.
• • •
now merely a memory in her rearview mirror,
actually closer than it appears.
Tonight, to capture his fancy,
she must shift her sand.
Her story—not a new one,
familiar like scenes in period films.
where the mistress grasps the bed post;
her dressing maiden—foot planted on spine,
tauts the cord, disappears the slack.
Pleased with her slimmer reflection,
she can’t help but ponder,
wonder what it would be like
having one less rib
published 29 June 2016