The Succinct Hem
Drudgery beckoned,
between starched linens
and mango colored fingernails
ripping, tearing, the rent fabric to
blissful shreds of compliance.
He needed nothing but his own
smile
dancing nightly with vice and
tremors and all the things she
craved but refused herself.
Until one night,
when followed by her
conscience
up to the painted boudoir of
fragmented portraits,
she fled
Fate,
arranged between strangers
on a reckoning
of blunders,
and found the reflection
she needed most
to obey.
Copyright © Melissa Schwartz | Year Posted 2005
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