A snake-skin print, silk-lined and ankle length;
it shimmies on the hanger out of reach
of her right hand and purse. Bright blood runs hot
along her left arm in a counterplot.
Three credit cards are burning and with each
she could set fire to Ilium's ancient strength.
She'd launch a thousand ships in viscose, cut
close to her moulded shoulders, serpent hips.
Inside the changing room, she hears the beat
of hearts and drums as minds are in retreat.
She angles in the mirror; yet her lips
part for a moment, breathe one cool word: 'but'.
Someone will pay for this great surge of lust,
this rush of heat, this trembling to possess.
She can't afford to sign, but she's for sale.
Will armies fight for her? Her face is pale
as she slips out with that too-costly dress.
Someone will pay, not her, but someone must.
That Dress by Barbara Daniels | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
