She tries on men like a summer dress
Inspects the fit, the color, the silky fabric
“It scratches like that one I had last year”
She loves the feel of a new dress.
The excitement, the way she looks at dinner
How it brings out the color of her eyes.
They are always special at first, she thinks.
But the second and third wearing
It starts to become
Just another dress.
Her closet is full, the colors reflect her memories:
The concert in Cologne, the opera in Vienna
A performance here, a recital there.
On each dress is written a symphony
The notes emblazoned on the fabric
Never to be played again
Her men are her performances
Infused with passion, tempered with distance
The growing flame must be drenched
Before it consumes her art and her life.
The past must be altered
Lest she play that piece again.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
She tries on men like a summer dress
Inspects the fit, the color, the silky fabric
“It scratches like that one I had last year”
She loves the feel of a new dress.
The excitement, the way she looks at dinner
How it brings out the color of her eyes.
They are always special at first, she thinks.
But the second and third wearing
It starts to become
Just another dress.
Her closet is full, the colors reflect her memories:
The concert in Cologne, the opera in Vienna
A performance here, a recital there.
On each dress is written a symphony
The notes emblazoned on the fabric
Never to be played again
Her men are her performances
Infused with passion, tempered with distance
The growing flame must be drenched
Before it consumes her art and her life.
The past must be altered
Lest she play that piece again.
