The Purchase…

The promises and dreams, sewn into the dress

Were impossible to resist, I have to confess

The purchase of silk, with its taffeta twill

An enhancement required, or the intention to thrill?


The soft touch of the fabric, on the length of my thighs

The warm, sensual hold, of its multiple plies

The cold touch of the zip, from the nape, down my spine

I caressed the pure form, of a mere, hand-stitched shrine


The mirror invited me, to accept its allure

Offering me more, than I could ever endure

Evoking a lust, through its objectification

Subjecting my ego, to its verification


I twirled in the confines, of the falsely lit booth

Justifying its cost, by deluding the truth

Caught up in the drama, of who I could be

Yet I was no more, than the brand I could see

My Wardrobe

My wardrobe was defenceless

As I set forth on my cull

To strip bare every hanger

To be decisive and not mull


Clothes littered every surface

Synthetic fibres filled the floor

From the vintage to the modern

As I emptied every drawer


Moth-riddled knits, of old assumptions

Threadbare, unravelling at the seams

No longer held the pure allure

Of their purchase-day, bought dreams


Jeans of different coloured denims

Bought to lift and shape and tuck

Promises broken like their zippers

Now in a pile and ready to chuck


Of all the glittering dresses

That did confidently project

A shiny armour of pretence

Their own bias, just circumspect


Stylish layers of anticipation

To wear close and to the skin

No longer touched, by hands of another

Are now lifeless and wearing thin


Too much material to handle

In garments for every event

Just a preoccupied illusion

Of my cloth-made discontent