miss hashimoto, i
                 fumble when 
                 i fold open
your chiffon;
dusky cascade of        silk
                 sliding off 
              your shoulders, 

and like the 
sun shining on your paleness, 
             like it was the 
             first time,  

i kiss you there  
Last edited by Dregen at Jan 12, 2017,
the way this slides is good, yes def moves as the text, all v effortlessly, though i feel at first there is something deceptive in the word choice here. and slightly beyond that will mention the signified as encoded in the signifier, it is here without outward language violence, as with experience/maturity. It gives a specific context to read in and is soothing, i'll come back to that.

this is a languid costume drama, where the flash of touch/intimacy is exhilarating and erotic to the royalty, except the silk is colonial, she is the object acted upon by boyish inexperience - a fantasy, a school friend and exploring touch - back to tv literary nostalgia the flash of paleness now an oil painting of the exotic, the flash of sun and the thyroid, the flesh perfect in mutation against some matte the kiss of the virgin atom bomb... (this makes me want to read the tale of genji) all played out in toy palace gardens. the ease of the context here is the jarring deception.

i found a lot to talk about there, i dunno, it may just be the mood i'm in but it made me think more than it made me feel, if that makes sense.
The construction of this makes me feel like there's a slight nervous trembling in unrobing her. Like there's a twinge of self consciousness. If that was the goal this was beautifully done.