Party Dresses

Braggart faction consulting with the soul. Manipulate the aristocracy of skin. She walks in high heels. She walks in leather boots. That chafe her thighs as she orders wanders. In and out of her various skins.

Small dresses make her tall. When she bends over to grab the coins I have tossed into the fountain. Palsy wishes on the cusp of enlightenment. Cry the pause in time. As her heel catches deep in the chewing gum.

The braids in her hair thick with ribbons. No bows to speak of. As the knots come undone. The pills in her hand. Light with freedom. Heavy with habit.

She sees the window. Broad and transparent. And wants to try on every gown. But the shop is closed. And party is over.