What to Wear
Skin-close, stretched crimson,
to be gently peeled above my head,
with delicate finger quiver
down over exposed skin,
bumps spike with surge of endorphin,
trembles puctuate each cell,
your hand moves soft
over the heated swell.
Or black crepe, torn violent
to its shredded end,
rip-break of fabric,
no cloth spared, flung aside
with slap and throw,
a bomb onto the sheets,
rapid pulse-pump on the creases.
What choice relieves a passion's howl,
the red dress or the black?
poem by Sonja Broderick
Added by Poetry Lover
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