Crinoline and black taffeta--that midwinter sound--like
falling awake to Chanel, like silhouette, like
dark, deep whispers and blood-red lipstick,
high-heels on hardwood,
brushing back my tangled hair, rubbing my chest with Vicks.
Hoarfrost. Blood-pink dawn.
Vanadous shadows. Silence. A latchkey.
Copyright John D Porter © 1998
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