a man's crisp white dress shirt
the first gift he brought me
long planned and presented
his first visit here.
i wore it to serve him
he called it my slave shirt.
i wore it to sleep or
wore nothing at all.
i'm packing for camp now.
we'll be in the mountains.
it's cold there at night...
there's but one thing to wear.
i'm bringing my slave shirt.
i can't go without it.
i'll sleep in his arms or
in nothing at all.
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4 comments:
Oatmeal Girl, a lovely bit of writing.
Perhaps nothing at all might in the long run be better.
Warm hugs,
Paul.
You'll let go when you're ready. If you're anything like me, you're probably beating yourself up, privately, for not being able to just move on easily and cleanly. Don't. Let yourself grieve, in whatever way works for you.
This is beautiful.
xoxoxo mina
luckily, i didn't have to wear it last night. hooray for hot flashes!
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