primped and preening
sent singing into the night
some kind of cat-call
where we only leave messages
and hardly are returned-
picking invisible silk insects from
the small of your back,
of those suitors we pursue
fitted to each of us
pinned and tightened in the right spaces,
or were we chasing tailors?
who may adjust themselves
to our own desperate measurements-
these feathers may be plucked
from our newly sported
spring jackets straightened out- so taken with them
before they may be taken off
those birds only parts of the flock-
oil slicked back
and the full frontal,
as the leggings take stock.

(we will scratch our backs together
before they begin to run)
Last edited by Sticky Tissues at May 31, 2011,
thanks for the read

and I definitely agree, giving this a second look.

anything else? thoughts?

I'll give House of Mirrors a look
great read. i always feel like you are pushing yourself into new themes and new metaphors instead of remaining in your comfort zone. and that's one of the reasons why you're so refreshing to read.
here, My Dear, here it is