Since a wedding is said to be the most important day of a woman's life, some brides-to-be are prepared to bring out whatever it takes to ensure that their big day is nothing short of spectacular.

A new documentary from the UK titled 'Now How The Rich Get Hitched', a provides a glimpse into some of the world's most lavish weddings.

The programme follows the glamorous goings-on at Knightsbridge bespoke wedding boutique Caroline Castigliano, where, for most customers, money is no object.

According to Daily Mail, bridal couture queen Caroline, who lives in Surrey, has been creating breathtaking intricate gowns for 24 years, cashing in on the £10 billion global bridal market.

But while the average UK bride is said to spend around £1,000 on her dress, Caroline revealed that one client, a Saudi Arabian bride-to-be is spending £40,000 on her dream gown - the same price as the Duchess of Cambridge's Alexander McQueen dress.

Despite the eye-watering prices, the 55-year-old designer claims that for most women this is one of the most important things they will ever buy.

She said: 'They buy into the overall power of the dress. I really truly believe that since they were very young they have dreamt of this day.'

Caroline's clientele aren't just drawn from the global elite, however. One of her clients, Jordan, 23, is a hotel heiress from Durham who has spent the past year travelling 300 miles with her family for fittings for her £9,000 dress.

Jordan's gown is made from one of the most expensive silks in the world, which costs hundreds of pounds a metre.

Jordan said: 'For a girl the dress is what everyone looks for. People would rather spend more money on the dress and look perfect on the day.'

Her mother Helen, who is helping to pick up the bill, added: 'I think once you see your daughter in something so beautiful and she's so happy you do stretch that extra mile.'

At around £9,000 Jordan's dress is almost half the average budget for UK weddings, which now comes in at an astonishing £21,000, but the day itself will set her family back far more than that.

The no-expenses-spared bash is being held at one of her family's hotels and costs include the £7,000 on importing 6,000 flowers from Holland, the hire of a 20-piece brass band and a Victorian carousel to entertain guests.

Gissa, 29, an Iranian socialite, who is planning a lavish ceremony in Turkey, journeyed to Caroline's boutique just to try on veils to go with her bespoke gown, which is embroidered with 200,000 sequins and 50,000 beads - and was one of the most expensive dresses in the shop.

The bride-to-be explained that her fiance was very amenable when it came to splashing out on her dress.

He said "I know this is the most important dress that a woman is going to wear in their lifetime so if you really like it and you love it, we'll get it."'

However, some brides look further afield for their dream wedding location and one of the boutique's clients, Katie, 29, was planning her ceremony in Southern Spain.

Katie admitted that she had fine-tuned every element of her wedding right down to her proposal.

She said: 'I'm a bit of a control freak, I think I emailed [my fiance] a picture of the ring after about three weeks of dating, so subtlety isn't my finest point but he's done really well.'

Katie visited Caroline for a bespoke wedding dress costing between five and six thousand pounds that has taken five seamstresses 200 hours of sewing and 250,000 beads to complete.

Another of Caroline's client, Kashmir, revealed that she took two years off work to get married and her husband is now determined to prolong the wedding celebrations with lavish gifts.

She and her husband also paid £75,000 to commission a portrait of Kashmir sitting in a chair in her strapless lace Caroline Castigliano dress, which was then unveiled at a party in the designer's boutique.

However, as any prospective bride will know a dress does not a wedding make and any ambitious bride-to-be will enlist the help of a wedding planner, with none more knowledgeable than luxury wedding planner Bruce Russell.

Bruce caters for the most ostentatious and demanding of weddings. He said: 'If it's physically possible, we'll make it happen - it might come at a cost.

'If you've got the money and you've got the budget to spend and you want to spend a million pounds why not spend it on a wedding it is the most magical day?'

Bruce's finely tuned expertise and impeccable taste come at a cost and he revealed on the show that he takes around 20 per cent of the wedding budget as commission, which rewards him with a £30,000 pay cheque for a £150,000 wedding.

The show followed him as he took one of Caroline's clients, Erina, on a tour of London's famous luxury five-star hotel, The Savoy, as a possible venue for her dream day.

Hosting 350 guests would set her back at least £70,000 and to stay in the Royal Suite, a further £10,000 a night - although it does come with its own butler.

But the documentary revealed that for women who want to up the 'wow' factor on their big day - and have the budget - couture jeweller Andrew Prince is the man to call.

But Andrew insisted that elegance is often confused with showiness: 'Glamour has changed. It became, at one point, very shiny and that's really not glamorous that's flashy. I like opulence.'

Andrew's creations may be an indulgence but for him there is no better way to spend your money.

He said: 'It's a celebration. We can be really sort of smug and factual about it, and say "oh no one should spend the money on something more practical", but what's more fun than just having a wonderful day?'

Many couples will argue that such extravagance is a waste of money and resources for just one day, however Caroline says that these are memories to last a lifetime.

She said: 'The most important people in your life have come to attend this day. It all comes down to the same thing, it's what you want to spend money on and what matters to you and how much money you have, it's all relative.'

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

’Twas in the nineteen-twenties, when young people were bright and gay,
A flapper left Southampton, on a cruiser bound for Bombay.
Her fiancé was a subaltern, in India, in the cavalry,
And she had taken passage there, intending, him to marry.

She shared a cabin with a girl, ’cause money was quite tight,
And though they had met as strangers, they were getting on all right.
The flapper had met some nice people, and things were going fine,
Until they reached the equator, and had to ‘cross the line’.

People who before, had never the equator crossed,
Paraded around in fancy dress, and some into the pool were tossed.
The crew were dressed as pirates, and one as King Neptune,
And some of the passengers ‘walked the plank’, it was all done in fun.

During the proceedings, cocktails and champagne were drunk,
And the pirates, lots of passengers, into the pool did dunk.
The flapper’s chosen costume was that of a mermaid,
And with her legs placed in the tail, she hopped in the parade.

Because of her restricting costume, she hadn’t been tossed in the pool,
Now eventime was coming on, the air was turning cool.
She thought she’d look at the wake of the ship, so she hopped to the after-rail,
And stood there drinking a Planter’s Punch, whilst balancing on her tail.

Standing there, under the stars, she gazed down at the sea,
And saw something jump out of the water and wondered what it could be.
Then, leaning over further, to try to make it out,
She lost her balance and fell overboard, no time to even shout.

She crashed to the water on her front, and couldn’t clearly think.
She was winded and rather drunk, because of all the drink.
She struggled hard to keep afloat, her arms were all a-flail,
And for a time she was helped by air trapped in the tail.

Back on board the ship, her cabin-mate was drunk,
And didn’t think that she’d be able to get back to her bunk.
She went to a saloon, and stretched out on a sofa,
Then closed her eyes and went to sleep, the drunken little loafer.

In the morning she awoke and staggered to her berth,
With a frightful headache, no longer full of mirth.
She took some Alka Seltzer, in a glass of water,
Then slept again, not missing the flapper, although she should have ought to.

In the sea the flapper was floundering and thought that drowned she’d be.
The ship showed no sign of turning back, and went on its way steadily.
Her tail was slowly losing air and filling up with sea,
Her last thoughts, as she started to sink, were, “Why is this happening to me?”

Her past life flashed before her eyes, it didn’t take too long.
She’d really led a quiet life, and had done nothing wrong.
“That, I’ll rectify,” she thought, “if ever I get back.”
Then the air bubbled out of her lungs, and everything went black.

“Am I in heaven?” were her first thoughts, assuming she was dead.
When she heard a quiet voice, which unto her, it said
“I thought you were a mermaid, now I think you’re a mortal,
If I’d known, I never would have brought you through my portal.”

The flapper struggled to sit up straight, ’cause her legs were still in the tail.
She opened her eyes, tried to see in the gloom, and then she started to wail.
“Please tell me just where I am, whatever is this place?”
Then she tried hard not to scream, when in front of her eyes loomed a face.

In the dark it seemed to glow with a phosphorescent light,
And this was the reason it had given her such an awful fright.
Then, as she scrutinised it, she thought it did look kind,
So asked, “Why did you think me a mermaid? Are you out of your mind?”

The face moved back and regarded her, and then to her it said,
“Aren’t you at all curious to find you are not dead?
Luckily for you I was on the surface, looking at your ship,
When I saw you standing staring down, and then I saw you slip.”

“I swam back under the water, so I would not be seen,
And heard you splashing in the water, and wondered what it did mean.
Then, looking at you from beneath, as you your arms did flail,
I saw to my surprise, that instead of legs, you’d a tail!”

“I could not work out why a mermaid was on that boat,
Nor why you seemed to not be able to swim or even float.
Then you started sinking and your gills I couldn’t see,
And you obviously weren’t breathing, so you needed help from me.”

“Then I thought of the quickest way that your life I could save.
I towed you to the sea-bed, and brought you to my cave.
There is lots of air in here and I saw to my relief,
When I laid you on my bed, you started then to breathe.”

The flapper was quite shocked at this and couldn’t believe her ears.
She thought she was trapped with a lunatic and her mind was filled with fears.
So sitting up, she undid the belt that held her tail on tight,
Then wiggled a bit and pulled it off so her legs were now in sight.

“There are no such things as mermaids!” the flapper then did shout.
“Why are you keeping me captive? Oh won’t you let me out?”
“You really are then human,” the mermaid, startled, said,
“And I brought you here inside my home! I really feel afraid.”

“I don’t believe in mermaids,” the flapper again did wail.
“So far I’ve only seen your face, I haven’t seen a tail.”
The mermaid said, with trembling voice, “If that is what you wish.”
She then lay back upon the bed, and gave her tail a swish.

“No, no, it’s just your fancy dress, like mine for the parade,”
The flapper said, and like the mermaid, she was sore afraid.
They both sat up and looked at each other,  tears running down their faces,
And each, feeling sorry for the other, each, the other embraces.

As they hugged together, they started to calm down,
And the flapper said to the mermaid, “I think that you have shown
Great compassion in saving me and bringing me safely here.”
And though overcome by emotion, she managed to sound sincere.

The mermaid said, “You’re trembling, may I be so bold
As to ask if you’re still frightened?” The flapper said, “I’m cold.
I’m shivering to warm myself, my clothes are chilly and wet.”
The mermaid told her, “I know what, some dry clothes I will get.”

Sliding down from off the bed, into a pool she slipped,
And swam to the far side of the cave, and there a case she gripped.
Rolling over onto her back, she balanced it on her chest,
Then swam back to the flapper, who hoped it hadn’t squashed her breast.

The flapper helped to lift the heavy case onto the bed.
“I hope you haven’t hurt yourself bringing it here,” she said.
“Oh no,” replied the mermaid, “I’m stronger than I look,”
Then she opened it, and from the inside, several garments took.

The flapper then looked thoughtful and said, with a little frown,
“I hope this case hasn’t come from someone who did drown.”
“Oh no!” said the mermaid, as she that thought abhored,
“I often find stuff from ships that has fallen overboard.”

The flapper quickly then took off all her sodden clothes,
And picked up a lace hankie, and on it blew her nose.
She dried herself upon a towel, and sorting out clothes to wear,
Picked out some silken knickers and a strapless brassiere.

Then the flapper noticed that the mermaid was quite bare.
She obviously wouldn’t wear knickers, so she held out the brassiere.
“What is that?” the mermaid asked, “Do you wear it on your head?”
“Turn around, lift up your arms and I’ll show you,” the flapper said.

The mermaid swivelled round and raised her arms up high,
While the flapper knelt behind her, putting her arms round her to try
To fit her with the brassiere, and though she did her best,
She managed, inadvertently, in each hand to clasp a breast.

The flapper and the mermaid both froze there in that place.
The flapper felt a crimson flush, blush across her face.
The mermaid slowly lowered her arms, each covered a flapper’s hand,
And she murmured, “What are you doing? I just don’t understand.”

The flapper’s arms were locked in place and the mermaid she leant back.
The flapper felt her ***** flattened as the mermaid squashed her rack.
The mermaid muttered, “Don’t get dressed, I’ve a better idea instead.
Why don’t we lie down together? I’ll warm you up in bed.”

The mermaid released the flapper’s hands and slowly turned around.
Then she saw the flapper’s eyes looking down upon the ground.
The flapper spoke. “I know you meant the offer kindly, though
While I’m really flattered, in India, I’ve a beau.”

“I was on my way to meet him at Bombay, to be married.
I’d still be on my way there, if the cruise had not miscarried.
You have been so kind to me and managed to save my life,
Now will you help me on my way so I can be a wife?”

The mermaid looked unhappy, however, she concurred,
Albeit quite reluctantly, and then spoke so she’d be heard,
“I will try to help you, though yet we must delay.
There will be many sharks outside at this time of day.”

“If I take you outside now, to try to get you back,
There’s a real chance that the sharks they will attack.
Why don’t you finish drying yourself and find clothes to get dressed,
Then lie back down upon the bed and try to get some rest?”

The flapper started dressing and put on the brassiere,
And helped the mermaid put one on, who felt awkward not being bare.
When the flapper stood up, and stepped into the knickers,
The mermaid couldn’t help but stare, her eyes made up-and-down flickers.

“Please show me how you use your legs,” the mermaid did implore,
“It’s strange to see you standing up,  not lying on the floor.”
The flapper bent and stretched her knees to show how they did work.
Then turned around and squatted down and got her *** to twerk.

Then as the flapper, legs apart, upon the bed did kneel,
The mermaid, stretching out her arm, between those legs did feel.
And then very slowly, rubbed her hand forth and back,
And murmured, “It must feel very strange, because a tail you lack.”

The flapper, with a quavering voice, said, “It’s quite normal for me.
Now, though, what about you? May I your tail closely see?”
And with that, the flapper stretched out flat upon the bed,
Then on the mermaid’s tail, gently rested her head.

She put her hand upon the tail and stroked it up and down,
And feeling it crissate, gave a little frown.
It felt smooth when caressed downwards and rough the other way,
And then the mermaid arched her back and suddenly did spray.

From somewhere at the tail’s front squirted forth a spout.
That the mermaid did enjoy it, the flapper was not in doubt.
The liquid jet subsided and the mermaid gave a moan,
And a quite delightful odour suffused throughout the room.

The fluid showered the flapper, who wasn’t sure what to do.
Though when she wiped her hair, it foamed up like shampoo.
She rubbed it to a lather, and washed her body too,
And felt totally refreshed, as though she had washed in dew.

She stood, removed her underwear, because she thought she ought to
Rinse off the mermaid’s glorious shower by washing in some water.
She walked to a fissure in the cave where the water ran down in rills,
And as she rinsed her face and neck, she felt a pair of gills.

In shock she stumbled backwards and fell upon the floor,
Where her legs fused into a tail, which wasn’t there before.
She looked at it in horror and then with fear she cried,
When instantly, the mermaid lay down by her side.

The mermaid clasped her in her arms and rolling across the floor,
Pulled the flapper to the edge of the pool and pushed her in, before
Sliding in to the water herself, and pulling the flapper under,
Where, to her surprise, the flapper could breathe, it really was a wonder.

The flapper hung suspended, floating there in shock,
Then gradually realising she was all right, started to take stock.
Thinking that now, perhaps, she could swim just like a fish,
She gathered up her strength, and gave her tail a swish.

Unwittingly, she flapped her tail with all the strength she’d got,
And happening to be facing the cave door, right through it she shot.
Then coming out in daylight, she stared in disbelief
At all the spectacular marine life round about the reef.

There was coral in profusion, as far as the eye could see,
Of many shapes and colours, like a garden beautifully
Laid out on the sea-bed, with fishes swimming round,
Each of them making it their home; the sea-life did really abound.

The mermaid caught up with the flapper and took her by the hand,
Then said to her, “I’m confused, I just don’t understand
How you became a mermaid, then I saw you couldn’t breathe,
So I pushed you underwater, to try to give you ease.”

“I realised that you’d grown gills and couldn’t breathe in air,
So I thought that being in water was best, because it’s where
We mermaids live, so that is the place you had better be.”
“Thank you, you’ve saved my life again,” said the flapper gratefully.

Then, although still puzzled, they swam on, hand-in-hand,
The mermaid helping the flapper, ’til she could understand
How to use her tail well, to control where she did swim,
And to make fine adjustments, by using the tail’s fin.

Eventually the flapper grew tired, so to the cave they both swam back,
The flapper taking the lead, because she’d got the knack
Of how to control her tail, and adjust direction and speed,
Then a thought suddenly struck her, in air, her lungs she would need.

They reached the cave and while in the pool, the flapper to the mermaid said,
“How am I going to breathe back in air? I can’t get it into my head.”
The mermaid replied, “I think you should try, we mermaids can manage ok.
Just try to do what comes naturally, that will be the best way.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” bravely declared the flapper.
She hauled herself out, then she choked, the mermaid, on her back did slap her.
The flapper coughed, and gave a gasp, then shouted in relief,
“I think I’m going to be all right, my lungs have started to breathe.”

They both lay there in silence, thinking of what had passed.
Then the flapper turned to the mermaid, and she said, “These last
Few hours I’ve spent with you have been just like a dream.
Now I’m tired, shall we go to bed? I think you know what I mean!”

They pulled themselves into the bed, and together they did huddle.
The mermaid put her arms round the flapper and together they did cuddle.
And this time, as the two of them laid together in rest,
It was now the mermaid who cupped the flapper’s breast.

The mermaid asked, “Remember when you stroked my tail and I gushed?”
The flapper felt embarrassed and again on her face she blushed.
The mermaid said, “It was really nice, wouldn’t you like to try?”
The flapper replied, “I’m afraid it’s too late, and here’s the reason why.”

“That would be an experience I’d really like to try.
However, it is too late now, ’cause as my tail got dry,
I felt it metamorphosise, have a feel, I beg.”
The mermaid reached down with her hand, and felt the flapper’s leg.

Nevertheless, she stroked it, and rubbed it up and down,
And accidentally touched some hair, which caused her then to frown.
“I think you’ve got a problem, you’d best hear it from me.
Stuck between your legs, I think there’s a sea anemone.”

The flapper remembered the last time that the mermaid there had felt.
She’d had on silken *******, so had seemed smooth and svelte.
Now, she’d got her legs back which were absolutely bare,
And of course, instead of feeling silk, the mermaid felt her hair.

“That’s not an anemone, in fact, it is my......frizz.
I am used to it being there, that’s just the way it is.
I try to keep it neatly trimmed, so there is not a lot,
Besides, I think it’s there to protect the entrance of my grot.”

“When you say you’ve got a grot, I assume you mean a cave.
Is it as big as this one, holding all the treasures you have?”
The flapper answered the mermaid, “Oh no, it’s very small,
And held safe within it is my most precious possession of all.”

“I have carefully guarded it so that it won’t get lost.
I expect my husband to have it soon, a few weeks at the most.
And so, my dearest mermaid, until I am a bride,
Nobody will ever know just what I keep inside.”

The mermaid gently smoothed the ‘frizz’, and said, “I understand.
Now, don’t you think it’s time we got you back to land?”
I would like to help you, and I think I know a way
Of quickly getting you safely all the way to Bombay.”

“Thank you,” responded the flapper, “however, if we may,
I’d like to go to another port, one before Bombay.
Then, if at all possible, I can rejoin my cruise ship there,
And may I take some of your clothes, so I’m not on

Strapless and lace
That's what I thought it'd be
It wasn't just a dream
I really thought that was me
With the done up hair
With a bouquet of roses
I thought that was me.

White picket fences
Children in the yard
Cooking breakfast and dinner
For all of us, three
With that picture perfect life
I thought that was me.

But, forget about that
I remind you of the wedding dress
That I won't be able to wear
Because it has your name on it
The wedding dress
The engagement that could never be salvaged
Not that I want it...anymore
It's just a pity
That poor wedding dress
Will never be worn
Because it's meant for me
But, still has your name on it.

Clambering and clawing
Grasping hooks, crannies
a crown of thorns
flowering purple red blood
bright fluorescent

she wore her designer nails
to the summer ball
strapless and holding up
her rounded dignity
spoken in a plunging neckline

She flowered
was deflowered
that twilight under a silver orb
whispering ocean fronts

dropped off at her starlight home
sealed that memory
with a bougainvillea kiss
of immense sensuality
and down the drive
thinking how beautiful she was
in making memories.

years later
I still remember the look
of that velvet sky
and the nails that scoured
a language on my back.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Getting married on a beach, mountaintop, remote villa or rustic rural setting is a romantic ideal for many brides.

But what does that mean for the wedding dress?

Should you go formal or footloose? Will your gown fit in your suitcase?

A bride having a "destination wedding" should think about versatility when choosing a gown. She must be "concerned about being comfortable, more so than your typical bride. She has to contend with weather and terrain, making her gown choice critical to how at-ease she feels on her special day," says Lori Conley, senior buyer for David's Bridal.

Christine Pagulayan of Toronto and her fiancé, Ian McIntyre, jetted to Costa Rica in 2013 for a resort wedding.

"I had a (dress) style in mind: strapless, low back, white with ruching. Initially, I thought about going short, since we were going to get married on a beach, but I then realized that even if it may be heavy or sweaty, I wanted a real wedding dress. So we found one that had a gorgeous train, but it also had a bustle so I could dance," Pagulayan says.

Some dress trends for destination brides:

• LIGHT FABRICS AND SHORT HEMS: Many traveling brides favor lightweight, airy fabrics.

"Chiffon and organza are always favorites. Full trains can be cumbersome if you're navigating sand or grass," says Conley, of David's.

"A lot of brides opt for the ease of a sweep train," which just grazes the floor.

David's destination-friendly dresses include styles in full or tea-length tulle, soft lace or chiffon, Conley says. Fabrics that travel well for brides wanting a more structured gown include silk gazar, georgette and crepe, which are "lighter-weight versions of silk faille and Mikado," says Carrie Goldberg, associate fashion editor for Martha Stewart Weddings.

J. Crew's Karina short dress, for instance, has a flapper-esque fringe, and is covered in corded lace. • SEPARATES: "Tops and bottoms are not only easier to pack, they allow for mixing and matching fabric and fit to get a silhouette that feels unique to your personal style," says Goldberg.

Separates work for any destination, she says: "A full organza skirt may appeal to a bride getting married on the beach; pairing it with a delicate silk camisole suits the location. The same skirt would suit a mountaintop affair when paired with a fur bolero or a fine knit."

J.Crew's Sloane poly-cotton long skirt has a simple, draped profile; a silk cami top embellished with beads, crystals, sequins and paillettes in a floral motif creates a dressy look.

At David's Bridal, there's the crisp Mikado cropped top balanced by a flowing, organza ball-gown skirt, creating a modern silhouette.

• COLOR: Let the venue inform your choice of hue, Goldberg says.

"A sunset wedding in Napa pairs beautifully with a blush gown, while the colors of an Amalfi Coast wedding may inspire the bride to opt for something blue."

• VERSATILITY: For bridesmaids — or perhaps even the bride — White House Black Market has a clever option: a short or long pull-on gown with a customizable top. You can adjust the straps on the "Genius" dress to make a halter, one-shoulder or cap-sleeved version. Easy to pack, affordable and available in a range of colors, these might be a good option for a group of bridesmaids.

• FOOTWEAR: Flats or wedges are ideal for beach or garden: "The more surface area the sole of your shoes have, the easier it will be to walk," says Conley.

Keep in mind that satin or grosgrain might get stained by grass or sand.

Another option for beach brides is "foot jewelry," an accessory that does away with the need for an actual shoe.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses

From fairytale princess gowns to feathery mini-dresses, bold skinny trouser looks and showgirl sequins, Bridal Fashion Week had something for brides of every size, shape and style inclination.

White reigned, as did classic silhouettes to please the most traditional bride. For everybody else, there were splashes of color, plenty of fluttery floral applique and sparkle, sparkle, sparkle.

Highlights from the Spring 2017 collections:

CHRISTIAN SIRIANO FOR KLEINFELD

After a smaller, capsule collection for the famed bridal shop, Siriano teamed with Kleinfeld again on a broader range.

His show stopper was a pricey pink ombre ball gown with a sweetheart neckline and skinny straps. As an evening wear designer, Siriano said bridal was a natural fit. He created in a range of sizes up to 24 or 26 — and a range of price points from about $3,500 to about $19,000.

Noting most dresses can be modified, he showed a lot of sleeves. There were long lacy ones on a column gown and a structured, off-the-shoulder pair in satin, embellished with tulle and strings of pearl.

One of his mermaid gowns included cascading ruffles. He used four tiers of ruffle at the bottom of a white, tailored suit jacket with matching boot-cut trousers.

Siriano also offered a range of hem lengths, from well above the knee in an appliqued mini to a fitted tea length with an ornate high neck and dramatic train.

In a backstage interview, Siriano said he's enjoying his first full push into bridal with the 27 pieces for Kleinfeld after focusing most of the time on evening.

"But the customer is so different," he said. "There's not as many rules. You can get away with trying new things, doing new things. It's a little fantasy dream world."

And what will Siriano wear when he weds his longtime boyfriend, Brad Walsh, at their Connecticut house this summer?

"I don't know. Literally we've got nothing," Siriano laughed.

INES DI SANTO

This was a **** runway dominated by sheers holding lots of floral creations in place. Romance meets sensuality is how the Toronto-based designer likes it.

While many of her looks were fit for royalty, complete with extra-long trains, she also ventured into over-the-top. An ultra-short hem with just one long lace sleeve had tulle skirting that skimmed the floor in back and leggings mismatched with floral embellishment, offering the appearance of one bare and one covered.

Spring itself was her inspiration this time around.

"The flowers, the garden, the beautiful trees, the sky, the sun," Di Santo said in an interview.

There were other vibes, in a sleeveless illusion Palazzo romper, for instance, with an encrusted bodice and dramatic detachable bell sleeves.

"I went very soft, romantic. You can see through the layers of the lace, the legs, the tulle," she said.

Like other designers, Di Santo included fit-and-flare looks along with sheaths, A-line silhouettes, halter necks and princess ball gowns.

Her backs and necklines were often illusion style, offering a barely there appearance. She included open bolero jackets for brides looking for a little cover, along with detachable skirt options for those who want to change up the outfit for the reception.

At the core of any bridal collection, Di Santo said, is how the dress speaks to budding love in marriage.

"It's so important," she said. "You can live without many things but you cannot live without love."



OSCAR DE LA RENTA

Designer Peter Copping is making his mark gradually at the storied Oscar de la Renta label, with a mind toward both preserving his predecessor's legacy and modernizing the label in his own way. In his bridal collection, Copping included some looser shapes — not everything was cinched tightly at the waist, princess-style — and even some short bridal gowns.

"I was thinking of the different women who are brides and the different ways women can get married," Copping said in a post-show interview, "because it's not always the same rules or traditions that people are looking for. So I think it's important within the collection to have a good cross-section of dresses, some short, some big columns, a real mix of fabrics."

Indeed, some of the gowns featured the sumptuous, extravagant embroidery for which the house is justly famous, and others featured much subtler embroidery for a more modern look.

"I think it was really just having a complete range of dresses," Copping said. The most striking were two short numbers, a nod to the popularity (and danceability) of shorter lengths, even if you can afford the big princess gown. "Yes I think it's popular," Copping said of the shorter length, "and I also think it's very relevant for rehearsal dinners, where a woman can still feel bridal the night before."

A highlight of the de la Renta bridal show is always the impeccably attired little children modeling flower-girl designs. "Having children here reflects what a real wedding is," said Copping.

And then there was Barbie.

Guests were sent home with the de la Renta Barbie doll, wearing a strapless white lacy column gown with a light blue tulle overskirt — something blue, of course. And in case you were wondering, under the skirt were some teetering white heels. No flats for this miniature bride.



REEM ACRA

For a bride looking to be just a bit daring, visible boning in corseting lent a uniqueness to some of Acra's fitted bodices.

There was an abundance of drama in ultra-long trains and encrusted sheer overlays. And Acra, too, offered a variety of sleeve options, including a web design on a snug pair that ended just above the elbow. The design, almost twig-like, was carried through to the rest of the full-skirted look.

Many of her dress tops were molded at the chest, bustier style, while she played with the lower halves. And some of her silhouettes fit tightly across the rear, sprouting trains where some brides may not feel entirely comfortable sporting one.

Acra put a twist on other trains, creating them to detach and also be used as veils. And she went for laced-up backs, both high and plunging, on some dresses.

In an interview, she called the collection "very airy, very light." Indeed, the stage lights during her show shone right through some of her dresses.

For the edgier bride, one who might appreciate the James Bond music Acra used for her show, she offered an unusual embroidered illusion gown adorned with pearls, white jewel stones and metal grommets.

Today's brides, she said, "have to have fun," adding: "She can't stress out about her wedding. Enjoy the ride and be the bride!"



MONIQUE LHUILLIER

There were lingerie-inspired elements here, too, with a touch of color in rose, pistachio, antique ivory and caramel. There were pops of fuchsia in bloom applique fitting for the outdoor garden where she staged her show.

Lhuillier decorated some organza gowns with hand-painted floral designs in asymmetrical layered tulle and silk organza. Deep necklines were prominent, with simple slip dresses offered along with bohemian gowns of lace and sheer skirts. Lhuillier also used corset bodices paired with cascading tulle skirts.

The collection felt like a chic romp, complete with high slits for a run through nature.

"My woman this season is in love and care free," Lhuillier said in an interview. "A little bohemian but just carefree."

The only clear trend in bridal these days, she said, is the need for designers to present more options.

"My core bride is somebody who loves femininity, she loves tradition but with a modern twist. And she wants something interesting with a lot of details," Lhuillier said.

There's definitely more fashion involved than when she began in bridal 20 years ago.

"One of the main reasons I got into the bridal business was when I was a bride in 1994, looking for a gown, I thought the options were so limited, and there was not a lot of fashion ideas," Lhuillier said.

Her bride doesn't want to be weighed down, however.

"She wants to look effortless," Lhuillier said. "But she wants to feel **** on her wedding day."

Are we all romantics on our wedding day?

"For me it's a really happy business," Lhuillier said. "We all are romantics deep down inside."



Associated Press writer Jocelyn Noveck contributed to this report.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

going down a rabbit hole
of obscure references
really?
Good Times is lost?
are we really in our own Lost World
or Land of the Lost
or deep within Inception?

Who's Jimmy Walker, we now
never knew him
and is he still alive a quick search
says yes!
how can we not know
slanted sitcoms?
and blaxplotation with bad
back running Brown
acting totally different
than wet backs another
brown water should we flush
it down?

at least she knows
Alice in Wonderland
at least she's seen
one version on one
mode or another
book tape movie
there's also the **** version

We're waiting for the tactile mode
coming straight to our head
like Natalie Wood
just before she died following her own
Brainstorm into anther world
off to another lost reference
or obscure rabbit hole

Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur,
straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered
down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand,
a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you
that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both
roads lead to an affair with me, time means little more
than air, cotton candy fever dreams, melting wedding bands,
a stain on your white dress, tender, torn up, seeing
Jesus on the cross at 3 am, it's Tuesday, borders, lines, barriers,
milk cartons, hamster wheels, the sun stayed away for fear
of witnessing this itchy massacre, plans? I find them trite,
quick to betray, overdrawn bank accounts, flat tires,
17-year-old quick *****, the wrinkles in the mirror,
the road back home, detour, detour, going down south
by way of 35, oceans of highways, shorelines of grief,
steady shots of grace in the passenger seat, where have
I smelled that before? Change your perfume, if I kiss you,
it needs to be strange, frightening, splitting the seams of
norm skull and disemboweling the sanctity of routine,
it's easy to put up the picket fence, easier yet to paint it black,
but behind the curtains of my .32 caliber grin,
lies a quivering child waiting for ma to get off work,
babysit me, hospital gowns, looking for lost blue crayons,
the bouquet rots on the windowsill, remember the first kiss?
Doped on caffeine, sleepless because Shorty partied too hard,
tile floor, porcelain, your strapless top undressed itself,
earthquake waltz, borderline insane, milk thistle,
both roads lead to an affair with me.

I want you hold me more like bible and less like a grudge, but you just want to mumble proverbs to my neck while I touch you like a psalm, both of our breaths lost in senseless revelations. I have been keeping to much track of how many times you try to break me into lines so that maybe I will look more like poetry and less like a eulogy; you're only here because you have time on your hands, but darling, I have blood on mine and I'm sorry that I have had more than a few thoughts of what you might look like covered in red. Dying never should be ******, but you told me I look killer in this dress, and I know you only said it because you see it's strapless and you're so used to seeing me wear my heart on my sleeve. It won't matter once I'm dead, or even once we touch, but all I know is that this bed feels cold as hell and you're right here beside me and that's a paradoxical statement but so are you and none of that is even close to fair.

cute little black dress, high heels, strapless
golden hair spun of silk
flawless skin white as milk
cherry red lips pucker as delicate blue eyes flutter
perfection but without confidence and on the inside I can see her struggle
because hers is a beauty for all save the mirror  
everytime she receives affection she grows colder
due to her perception liars lie in every direction and late at night she gives in to a dark obsession  buttery flesh parts beneath a blade
overwhelmed by sadness and controlled by hate
she causes pain to relieve the suffering

I got engaged this winter.
Yeah, in vegas!
I've already started planning.
Spring wedding. A-line strapless sweetheart dress. Tanning!
Eggshell with dark blue accents.
Wildflowers and wedding showers?!


No.


Not everyone that gets engaged is Susie homemaker in rage mode.
Oh, here we go. I know
What you're thinking.
"She's only 22, she's in college, she's too young."
Please, save your pity.
I am most assuredly doing me.
I'm so tired of these stereotypes.
Giving engagements all this negative hype.
I see it all the time.
I'm also 22.
No, Taylor swift, not like you.
I'm doing it differently.
My life is also a party.
But
I too am living, only, my way.
I did get engaged.
And guess what, life's not over.
Not shortened, not stunted, not a bore.
I just don't feel the need to get trashed and go *****
Around.
Stereotypically college-like, of course.
You're problem is you think it's old fashioned.
Engaged?
"Oh, **** forget about passion."
It's trendy to think that.
Well, you don't know jack.
I haven't changed a wink.
I don't stand at the kitchen sink,
And cook. Or clean.
I do those things. But I'm OCD.
I'm not going to stop being me.
And a real man doesn't expect that.
This ring, and after,
He's still the same,
Our existence is full of laughter.
It's not sexist to fall in love.
It's sexist to think it is.
It's ******* you judge me for being.
The only difference in my life?
Is he shares my strife.
I'm sprung.
It's not old fashioned to get engaged young.
It's old fashioned to think engagements are like they used to be.
I have a permanent drinking buddy.
And we do drugs.
We share hugs.
And we have ***. A lot.
With video games in between.
Nope, when the ring came out that didn't stop.
This ring is not a ball and chain,
And that's what's wrong with your brain.
You think it's all about him?
I have to live my life on his whim?
I have to check my phone and "he better answer me," 24/7 of quality,
Time.
Nope, that's just you and your ex.
My guy, he expects
Nothing new.
Do I look like a house wife?
The last thing this has done is ruin my life.
I'm in school, I have a job, I have a goal.
I'm not playing some tired old role.
And my life rules because he supports it.
What are you ******* at me for? I don't owe you ****.
Much less an explanation.
Can I live?
He's got the world to give.
And I'm taking that,
On top of everything else I've got going.
And my momentum's not slowing
Because I experienced something beautiful in front of the Nike of Samothrace at Caesar's Palace.
The difference between you and me
Isn't that you're more free.
I've got someone who wouldn't change me and who doesn't want me tamed.
Have you EVER been able to say the same?
But... maybe you all disagree.
Maybe now I don't really know me.
I only know one thing,
And that's that I'm happy.

Long legs and electric red high heels.
A polka dot strapless dress,
and the classic rhythmic tune of Chuck Berry,
echoing in the background.

A deep green 1955 Chevy Bel Air,
windows down,
and a cool breeze swinging through her hair.
Her Bonnie blonde hair.

And now they wait.
For the sun to fall from the sky,
and leave the earth's crust in a midnight haze.
Only lit by the dull moon's gleam.

Only one problem.
Where's Clyde?

On the evening of my sixteenth birthday
I remember curling my hair with an iron and
burning the tips of my fingers pink,
mumbling pained words under my breath
that I probably shouldn’t ever repeat
unless I desire to live beneath the shadows
of adult eyebrows being raised so high
they might never come back down

as if they had never said something like that
before

that night I put on a silver dress,
and lipstick so red it almost gave the illusion
that I had been bleeding from the mouth
but I felt unstoppable, so why not?

“why not” was the question
that was always replaced with stone-cold silence
and the shrug of a shoulder
instead of an answer

that night, I blew out sixteen flaming candles
and felt beautiful,
surrounded by the smiles of friends I had met in high school
and ones I had known since the days when our only worries
revolved around who had the prettier Barbie doll
and who held hands during recess in the fourth grade
and these thoughts caused my stomach to somersault because,
now that we were illuminated by candlelight and the brightness of celebration,
everything had changed.


I blew out my candles and did not wish
for a car, or a new wardrobe, or for more
faces to call my friends, but rather,

I wished to be taken seriously.

I knew there was a deep-rooted problem
when I became acquainted with real love for the first time
And everyone said that I was too young, too incompetent to understand
What that word even meant,
That I was silly for believing that such a concept could exist
When you’re sixteen and five and a half feet tall
and not that great at chemistry or parallel parking
and can barely even hold up a strapless dress
as if somehow that dictated
that I was too small, too stupid to realize that
love was something much bigger than I am
but I did.
I do.

And there is something so contagiously twisted
That lurks in our society like a epidemic
The idea when your age lies between thirteen and eighteen
you are not really a person
that instead, you are a shadow of ignorance that sleeps all day
and clothes yourself in different shades of apathy
and that the only things you care about are
alcohol-induced parties on Friday nights and
losing morals and hours of sleep while gaining temporary highs
as if that is the highest I will ever go in life

you have to be kidding me.

because you might look at someone like me
and snarkily remark that I never look up from the screen of my phone
and you might think that my taste in music is repulsive or that
I’m only holding his hand because I love the thrill of letting it go,
and you might think that people my age have brains
that contain only a spoonful of intellect and the rest is just
empty space filled up with disease
but maybe it is time that your pedestal falls
and you realize that the older the wiser
is hardly ever true at all

I have witnessed lives spiraling out of control

the truth is not that we are dirt
and no, I am not taking pictures of myself unclothed
or chatting with strangers in online rooms
maybe the reason why I’m on my phone
is because I’m talking my best friend out of killing herself
and I’m researching time travel and why the happiest people hurt the most
and a cure for my own depression
and better words to fit my poetry
I am not equal to the garbage you see kicked to the curb of the street
Or scenery while you ride on by in your horse and carriage

I am just as great
As someone who has spent 80 years of their life achieving
And if time is uncontrollable
Then why am I being treated like somehow,
I have not chosen to be here long enough to know anything at all

And one day I dream of having my words praised for the truth that they are
Rather than having eyes roll back in guilty judgment
Because I have not lived as long as you have
And yet I am the one writing the words

Because yes, I am sixteen.
I haven’t even been here for two decades
but I do not search for happiness in empty glass bottles and clouds of smoke like you think I do
and I do not play with hearts like they’re made of matches
because I know that they burn
and when I tell him that I love him
I am not doing it to **** time
and I know that life is sacred and
impossible to retrieve once it’s gone and I am not going to waste
the precious seconds of my own aching until someone decides
that maybe, I am worth listening to.

Because I know that I am.
And on my sixteenth birthday,
as I smiled scarlet in every photograph
I was right--
I am unstoppable.

January- Her toes were chilly just like the trees in her front yard. She had never known what happiness was & she still hadn't found the answers (especially not in me), yet the love for the similarities of december compared to this beautful month was similar into the way that she loved food but hated to eat; she loved the way her glasses looked on her, & how perfect the dimples on her face felt in the sunlight, & every song that I ever wrote for her, & the way I make long lists about all the ways she was beautiful to me.
She loved all of these things, but never me.

February- the clouds always looked over her like a big brother & always told me when she was in need of one of my helpful conversations consisting of me expressing all the reasons why she is so important to this world & that nobody would be who they are today if it wasn't for her birth & her substantial impact on people's outlook on life. She hated the way everyone would fall for her like leaves in september & she would always feel bad for b(rake)ing leaves & hearts that weren't hers to b(rake) in the first place. She was most magnificent when she was upset, the passion, the sadness, the fear, it was all just beauty in its purest form.

March- This was her favorite month, because it was so spontaneous and unexpected just like her;
one day it's raining
& the next day a cloudless day where we're sunbathing in my living room,
& even the next day is a harsh winter with a spice of sun added to the whole recipe.
One day she was dressed up & happy,
the next day she could be dressed down & apathetic towards life (& especially me),
& even the next day she did her make-up but not her hair & she actually manages to put socks on but they aren't matching (& she hates not matching, maybe that's why I never match my socks anymore) & her mood has a hint of attitude with a spice of sarcasm, & I love every single second of it. Becasue life is like the month of march, you never know whether she's going to love you or not.

April- This isn't a good month for her, she's behind in all of her classes because of her job & life at home & she's scared of everything. It's sunny & windy half of the time, & rainy the rest of the time. She hates the rain because it ruins her hair & reminds her of why her mom isn't in her life anymore & the fact that she'll never forgive her dad for that. On the extra rainy days she didn't go to school & on the sunniest days she sat inside catching up on all of her missing school work. To her, april was like the world we live in, absolutely horrific.

May- the color was riveting; the skies were as glossy as her eyes after a short nap, & she had just finished reading her new favorite book. Love was short tempered this time of year, but at this point i'm used to it. Lovely May couldn't have come at a better time though, because lasting love never lasts & everyone knows that. She has just told me that she is slowly falling for me, & this is unusual to me because i'm usually the leaf that is falling to my inescapable death, not the other way around. But the way the goosebumps on her arm looked & the way her lip quivered was so unbelievably beautiful as she was telling me that she's loved my childish humor & stupid stories for quite some time now, but has finally decided to let herself love me instead of drenching her affection for me in sarcasm & rudeness. I am finally loved & i'm not sure if I can stand up without thinking about her kissing me & how am I supposed to go to sleep when I could be holding her instead. Lovely May couldn't have come at a better time.

June- Sweat. Sweat. Sweat. Sweat. Not because of the sun either, but because her body against mine was a sauna & the way we looked at eachother put a shame to the way the sun looks at the moon. We were explorers of the human body & our first trial had taken place with eachother. We have never been outside of our city so we decided that we would travel the world together, through each other's stories, body movements & wandering souls. I had seen pictures before of the great ranges & valleys that are so beautiful, it's a shame that all they'll ever be are just valleys; but nobody prepared me for her smile,
& the way she laughs when I pick her up & spin her around in public places,
& that strapless dress that she loves to wear,
& especially the way she tells me that i'm perfect & actually means it.
Nobody prepared me to actually want to keep on living.

July- the heat was at an all-time high whether it had been between our agruments, or the sun cooking down on us like eggs on a sidewalk. Maybe the temperature had something to do with her mood swings or maybe it was just her realizing that I wasn't as perfect as she thought I was. I can't tell you I didn't expect this though, no one in my life had ever stayed longer than a few years, whether it was because of my overly direct opinions, or my waves of jealousy, or my (meaningless) indirect insults; whatever the case was I didn't expect much from anyone nowadays, & the strangely beautiful thing about it was, neither did she.

August- I can't really say very much about what happened this month except her hair blowing in the wind is more heartwarming than any cup of hot cocoa & the way she broke my heart with just her eyes will forever haunt my cloudless dreams.

September- Just like the month of september, she finally settled into a pair of warm, comforting arms; but those arms were definitely not attached to my body & the month of september definitely wasn't sad just to accompany my mood, it was sad at the fact that the world is slowly falling in love february & losing interest in all summer related festivities; this is how I felt, she was slowly falling in love with the rainforest & I am just a single tree.

October- She would still call me every now & then, but only when her & her new boy toy were having relationship problems or when she had a bit too much to drink.
"I made a mistake." "I love you." "I want you back." "I miss you so much."; the sentences evacuated her mouth like water falling from a cliff & could have easily exterminated every cell in my body had I not hung up before I could hear the end of it.
I loved her & I wanted her more than I wanted to see the sky each morning, but I knew she didn't mean anything that she was saying in those insignificant, yet crucial moments; I knew she didn't love me, she loved the idea of never having to be alone.
I was pretty sure october was coming to an end soon, but honestly, I didn't even keep track of the days anymore, I didn't keep track of anything anymore.

November- winter is just around the corner & I haven't  heard from her in a week of two.
I think she's happy now.
I hope she's happy now.
Even if i'm not, I hope she is.

December- I realized that no matter how cold the weather gets, her heart will always be much more colder, sinking to temperatures a small child would have nightmares about.
I finally have come to terms with the fact that she isn't coming back;
just like the leaves,
just like the sun,
just like time,
she's gone.

Inspired by “The Burning Giraffe” by Salvador Dali*


I am defined by what clutters my drawers:

• Aortic—a tattered matchbook with a phone number I never called
    scrawled to the inside cover as an inscription to everything
    I never wanted.  A half-empty can of butane with a missing
    cap alongside a dollar’s worth of pennies that weight a scrap
    torn from a newspaper tragedy: four killed, faulty smoke
    detectors to blame.

• Ankle—a charred picture, curled in upon itself and kept as a reminder
              of what I could become; a blackened nest as an omen of
  losing all I’ve ever known and an ointment tube, squeezed
  in the middle as a talisman against blistering tempers.

• Thigh—an empty Zippo with a scarred case, dull and pointless; a coiled
             stove element with an ashen haze that could testify that water
doesn’t douse all flames; and an oily fuse, plucked from the top
of my head to serve as a yardstick of minutes, seconds, then
nothing.

• Knee—a fine layer of charcoal dust and half of a briquette from last
            summer’s backyard barbecue when the wind kicked up to spray
red embers into the air like a meteor shower, streaking in bright
sparks and fluttering to shrieks and stop-drop-rolls along dry grass
until the itching ceased and the bubbles formed in small foamy
patches along arms and strapless backs and sun-red cheeks.

cleavage
         and a pitcher
                of Sam Adams
                              adapt
                      to the trap
                           of heels
                       that clasp
                          trespass
                   this roaring
                      rapture
                 roaming
             the streets
         your
             statuesque
                 figure
                   fractured
                       your
                          allure
                             in
                              a
                             strapless
                           dress
                        giving
                     more
                 for
            less
       I pass
I guess

Blue nothing. She considered miles
out the high window in the stairwell.
First, simple paper distances her finger

could trace, point A to point B.
Then the more difficult measurement,
that of closeness, like bonded atoms.

And then, hypothetical expanses
like those of the heart's vessels -
their length could circle the globe twice.

A plane seemed to crawl across the glass,
leaving a necklace vapor trail. She believed
in possibilities, that every atom that could exist,

already did, but still, she could not wear the red,
strapless dress she no longer owned,
couldn't lift her hair for his fingertips to clasp

pearls at the nape of her neck, his breath
fastening a shiver between her shoulder blades
down the small dip of her back.

She wanted to look into a large aperture
telescope, to view the farthest reaches
of visible space, where no energy had ever been

destroyed, to see into the incalculable vastness
of him in their living room downstairs, him
on the brown sofa reading. She wanted

him to put down his book, to think of her
on the landing, waiting. For him to move
exponentially faster, up the stairs two at a time.

by Jo Brachman

The music beating in the damp dark room made her spin in half circles. Her hips swung side to side as her arms lifted into the air. The glint of jewelry sparkling in the dim lighting of the packed space.
A soft smile, lips curled just at the edges with eyes closed to the world around her. Dark auburn locks hung past her shoulders in loose waves. By the gods above and below she was a lovely sight.
Those who's eyes fell and lingered about her frame watched in admiration. Thick thighs and strong shoulders rippling under soft brown skin, exposed by the strapless tank she wore.
Men tried to pull her into a dance of grinding hips and over-reaching touches. Women watched carelessly, few approached her. Always managing to slip away from the heavier petting she would drag the ladies who she saw staring with desire.
Enticing as she was few recognized what she was; a deceiver of fools, a heartbreaker. With her pretty smiles and soft eyes.
A light press of lips against the shell of your ear, a warm hand just grazing against heated skin, and a laugh that has your heart beating frantically.
Soft as a dream kisses just as sweet. She is the best thing you will ever have, touch, feel, breath.
She sinks into the earth as the sun rises in the east.
Never to be seen.

As close letting
to bending bones
broken,

As wide setting
so mending minds
rhyme,

As We of age,
collateral children
in time will rage

In strapless grown,
in dead damage
razed by wings flown.

"Sometimes I wish you were dead. All of you. I like you, but these conflicts are getting to me. Your needless, never ending, merciless complaints. My shortcomings. Exaggerated, overrated, pus filled pimples you are. You are annoying and one by one, as major and minor as you may be I feel like shooting each one of you down. Angry? Boom. You are dead. Yelling, crying, laughing, screeching, droning on and on and on like a black and yellow bumblebee under the harsh sweltering summer sun. SPLAT! Off with your head and your neck and your arms too. Black and grimy and disgusting on the fly swatter. Look at me! Whatever. Don’t look at me. Your eyes should be poked out. All of you should die. I want to be alone in this world without you. I love each of you ever much, but you no longer affect me. You walk around me, about me, over my head, under my feet, and through me but I will not hear you. I can not feel you. You walk like corpses, dead and mute, and I do not see you. I keep on walking, ignoring you. Forgetting your existence. I am in this alone and I will stay Alone. Devils eyes. Stop staring at me. Devils eyes. Rotting pig nostrils. Stop staring at me. Lifeless you, rotting in your grave, surrounded by worms and earthen colored bugs. Flirty, Flimsy, *****, Red Dress, Flaunting, Flapping, Backless, Strapless. Stop prostituting yourself, you filthy *****. Get off me. Cold, alone, hungry, unsatisfied. Alone only I can sustain myself. I need myself and myself only."

(A rant, more than a poem. Written at age 20- when things got too intense, and I was angry. Thought it couldn't get any worse, but today is proof that I was wrong. At least then, there was hope).

Strapless dress
Her confidence is high
She know's she's prettier than the rest
but she lets out a lonely sigh

She's nothing but a product of loveliness
Anyone can tell her but she won't believe
She sees nothing but ugliness
Never to be relieved.

She sees a light within
She hopes someone will notice it
More than the sins
And not be a hypocrite

She can't wait to meet him
The one who will be there through thick and thin
The one to light up the dim
He with tough skin

She remembers when it was first felt
Something infatuational
so much so she melted
but it wasn't real or actual

She moved on
she tells herself the lie.
That chapter was full of pros and cons
At least no knots were tied

Yet she still doesn't know she's perfect
everything she does, she does for good
her touch affects
The only thing about her that's understood

Someone will come along
she'll just have to wait
it's worth the delay, she'll write a hundred songs
He will come, even if it's late

10...minutes until you'll be home and see this stream of rose petals coursing though our apartment and disappearing down the hall.
9... words written on a piece of paper resting gently against a full champagne glass, "I am waiting for you, come and find me"
8...steps after you read the note until you can clearly see that the trail leads to our bedroom, and that I didn't forget what today was
7...days ago I thought of how your face would look when you stepped into the door frame and locked eyes with mine
6...silent breaths exchanged face to face between four lungs and two hearts as one kiss sets our entire world ablaze
5...fingers slide down your back as I search for the zipper and release you from that sultry strapless black dress you know I love
4...eyes realize how useless they can be when they can't touch your skin, or taste your lips, or hear the melodic composition of your voice
3...candles sit on the dresser and cast dancing shadows on the wall who seem to move to the rhythm of our symphonic engagement
2...people who were lucky enough to find each other in spite of the turmoil of this chaotic existence, become
1...and for just a moment, all is right with the universe.

The dim glow illuminates my face
as I search for the perfect playsuit, perfect dress

or something. Something beautiful.
And everything is. Colours and elastane,

polyester, nylon, lycra.
Peplum, bodycon, strapless.

But the models are all size six,
and you must be pretty to wear a pretty dress.

I'm going to spend a week's wages
on this ******* wedding outfit,

and if you're not impressed
I'm going to ram a slice of cake down your throat

and smile, and catch the **** bouquet.
Will you look at me? Look at me!

I'm a sad, pathetic wreck.
I want to mark my territory. Your neck

will speak for itself.
Will say that I've been there before.

This perfect dress I'm searching for
to be left crumpled on your bedroom floor.

Like a modern piece
Of curious art
Like a commentary
A contrast
Or a twist
To the bronze statue
Behind her
She sits alone
On a sunny afternoon
Observing how
Orange makes people
Talk
Like her solitude
And porcelain legs
Attract stray glances
Mid conversation

All that orange
But the dress
A strapless black!
And she is writing
This moment
Capturing life
An orderly contrast
To sitting alone
Like a curious
modern piece of art
Beneath an old statue
On a sunny afternoon

Lust wears a black veil, a strapless top, a mini skirt, fishnet stockings and high heels.

written by Keith Edward Baucum

Long stemmed Lily
dressed in white,
spreads the scent of pheromone
across the sweat stained night.

High heels and strapless dress
fishnets and rings,
drawing out the wanton ones
with the siren song she sings.

Painted lips and promises
eyes that say it all,
with just a touch of hinting
into her web they fall.

She's a ***** she's a spider
she's a wolf without a pack,
she's a bullet she's a cudgel
she's the sharp knife in your back.

She's no player you can't play her
she wrote the book of rules,
she changes them to suit her
as her suitors are all fools.

Shes a woman first and formost
she's fragile like a flower,
but here between the bed sheets
she's the one with all the power.

So don't say I never warned you
when you wake up all alone,
just be thankful that you tasted
of the fruit so few have known.

You were thinking about God all night. If only you could without suffering sin, you’d swear it was true. Prayers clung to the gloss on your lips. You’d shaken your hair loose from the day’s mistakes, apologized for those that you chose to remember. But still, your body was a live wire.

Your fingers were knotted up in the chain of your grandmother’s cross when your first stranger offered you a drink. His smile boasted of layover stays in European cities, of glassy-eyed girls spread just for him, all neat and pretty on a silk duvet. You swallowed down your fears and let him order for you, just nodding his way so he wouldn’t get to hear your voice. A scotch on the rocks to ease your nerves, you reassured Him, and nothing more.

Let me slip into something a little more comfortable…you breathed easier in a strapless dress, a tight skin of black satin worth half of a month’s rent and all of your dignity. Eyes you didn’t recognize skimmed over more of your body than you let your own mother see. The little girl she raised would have been afraid. The good Lord Himself was a skeptic, a dwindling shadow of a doubt still stuck in the doorway. …She’s so exposed, can she really offer any more parts of herself to the world, or has it all gone?

You’d just gotten done with praying for the ****** when one of them shows up at your feet to thank you. You try to forget. You don’t want to remember that you asked for her in your sleep. She is a gift…not from God. You feel as you would have if you had seen her naked. Her white dress wraps high enough around her neck to make you second-guess your hands.

Touch…The thought hits you like a freight train and makes you sway. She laughs, guess I shouldn’t have gotten you this drink, huh? You’re halfway finished with the glass she gave you before you tell her you’re okay.

A hangover may keep you from church in the morning.

Just seemed like you needed to unwind.

God would have healed your heart then. Only you start to think now that the pain of someone else may be what keeps you alive.

Maybe a dance will help.

Her hand is warm as she leads you out onto the floor. Instead of letting go, her fingers squeeze the spaces in between yours. She leans in so she can hear you speak above the pounding of the bass. When she tosses her hair, she smells soft, like fresh roses. You feel her thorns press into your sides like the fingernails digging into your chest, and the pain breathes new life into you.

She dances up against you with her body like a hurricane. The shallow breaths against your neck are no longer just that. They are howling gusts, a swirling mass of a storm that comes to life in glaring black-and-white headlines, “disaster of the ages”, “the bullet you can’t outrun”. They are screaming at you to get a grip before you crash to the ground, another casualty in her wake.

Her hand swims up your dress to touch you between your thighs. You let her. It’s okay. You ease into her, let your eyes roll back for her. You kiss her unholy, her tongue tasting like redemption. The strokes of her fingers take you as close to Heaven as you’ll ever get.

Forgive me, Father, for I am sin.

I don't want to show my shoulders
In the silky dress
I bought months ago
It was so surreal then
And now,
It's just a few hours away
I can feel their eyes on me
It's tonight

I've never looked pretty
I bit my nails to the stub
I don't cover
My sun burnt face
With makeup
Until last week I only owned two pairs of shoes
Tennis shoes
And slightly nicer tennis shoes
I always wear my hair up
So people can't see it.

Tonight
I have silver sandals
And hard
Fake nails
I bought a strapless dress
That I would never wear

Tonight
People will take pictures
Of the ball gowns
And the suits
Will guys be wearing suits?
I feel so,
So,
Not ready

Tonight
I guess I'm not myself
Because I only wear sneakers
And I don't wear makeup
I certainly do not wear flowy pink dresses
But

Tonight
I want to be a
Princess

Fire burns. It reflects off her eyes. She stands there watching watching her memory burn away.
She haves nothing more to live for. The shadows reach out and grab her.
She lets it take as the darkness starts to take over and engulf her body.
Her soul was lost forever and she no longer had any feelings. She was empty shell.
Her skin turns purple grey her hair eyes and lips turns black. her nails are long and sharp.
Her outfit was a shadowy strapless smokey dress that forms on her.
She was no longer the person that everyone  knew.
she was something dark something evil something no one can ever bring back.
She is to far gone. She was part of the shadows and nothing can save her.
Nothing........

Welcome dark Raven.

I'm not a good dancer
Sure, I can write a waltz
I can record the movements in a million ways

The guy,
In a fancy tuxedo
Smile wide as ever on his face

The girl,
In a strapless dress
Maybe it's white

The guy,
With his one hand
On her delicate waist,
The other
Holding her hand,
Keeping her anchored and safe

The girl,
With her one hand
On his strong shoulder,
The other
Holding his hand,
Relying on him to lead

The guy,
Feet moving in time

The girl,
Feet moving time

The guy,
Raising his arm
For a graceful spin

The girl,
Allowing herself
To be turned and rotated

The guy,
Passion in his eyes
An ever-growing love

The girl,
Kindness in her eyes
An ever-growing devotion

The guy,
Bringing her down
For a spectacular dip

The girl,
Scared to death
He's going to drop her
But knowing all the same
He won't let her fall

The guy,
Slowly lowering his lips

The girl,
Smiling and kissing him

They were finally happy

I can't dance
I know every move,
Every feeling
But, when I get on that floor,
I just get clumsy

It's too bad, really
Because I would have liked
For that to be you and I
Someday

yet, in spite of Clint Howard's banana-stealing bend, Ben loved him
like ****-deficit babe Barbie Roberts loved no-ball-&-**** doll Ken
in his humpless, stumpless, ****-strapless, crapped-out-big-bear den
where he confused suddenness for quickness frequently if not often
as he spun suddenly & quickly & frequently again in his pine coffin
that he had filled with wild kangaroo anuses from Australia to quell
& to soften his pine box bed for the rotten dead ***** he'd be boffin'
& to soften the casket for Botox-swollen hoes whom he'd be boffin'
& to soften his pine bed for crapped-out ****** who wanted boffin'
Judgement day's soon from Koestler's Darkness at Noon pairin' Pat
Boone & junior loon goon, martyr Martin Luther King as that ****
who Niven hadn't hunted in a racoon hunt in The Moon's a Balloon
in which no hog-slop cop bought at a profitable loss a fiery bassoon
played by a musically-deft & sexily-thrilling, heart-donating baboon
that sings old-world chimp songs that Sinatra could warble & croon
to Reeve's Eastern Express, jumpin' badly to 1 magickal faerie tune
After harvesting a crop of bee drops I stop to deposit top money for
fake honey on Lake Sunny as sheep hop over a chop steak of bunny
Once filthy rednecks become your next-door neighbors, through the
course of their daily redneck labors, you will be startled by periodic
explosions, shotgun blasts, back fires, dope raids & Samurai sabers
& blue-hued babies of infantile ages in post-born stages confined to
****** chimpanzee zoo cages like Tibetan sages given to outrageous
whinin' outrages, browner than what a buck-deer-pelt-shade beige is
Don't you remember that when we were in love with pink hog meat
we'd sit on torn seats at Burger King to chew dill pickled pigs' feet?
I don't care about your various burial plots & factor K, your antique
drugs from F.D.A., or why my ******* curl up on a wintry day
I don't care about your various blood clots & factor K, your antique  
stock from T.W.A., the way your ******* curl on a sunless day
I care a lot about these hairy mud smocks & vitamin K, old, ancient
bonds from N.B.A. + why beef **** curtains rarely wilt on Sunday
or promoting P.G.A.'s role in making **** drapes droop on Monday
after Mecca town's Eddie Mekka sought Shirley, sold & bought her
in the eternal holy city of righteous step-daughter ******, slaughter
as it slept beneath Laverne's saucy danglers where Eddie caught her
on the 3rd match that fused **** Cheney's N.A.T.O. cannon fodder
before Reeve took a head-first decapitation off a mudder or a trotter
or a fishnet stocking, a can of Crisco, a purse or a scrumptious otter
that totters where Caylee Anthony should never be allowed to totter
whilst Casey Anthony maintains the rotted, purple corpse is not her
as the toddler died of misadventure, meanin' mother hadn't shot her