Such a desperate fetishism.
The racks that hold
a beaten band of fedoras-
the wing-tipped shoes
weighted, in their dark ,appointed corner--
a dust-ridden chorus line
tapping into a parade
that has longed passed.
And what light dares
to intrude
meanders to a predestined
deadend.
And we rush out
to be under the sun
and clearly see the
leather of our skin--
we breathe deeply
and
BEGIN.
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Great write....
I cannot go into the
sun without some kind
of protection...
It has been such a
danger for me...
Great write...
Trixie :)