moccasin shoes

the thoughts still remain. I can put you in those heels.. wrap you in that dress.. and you are an object .. telling me what to do.. robotic and I’m ok with chatting with Ai..

I have the buds but I haven’t smoked them, vanilla cashmere on my feet.. the idea of her running away.. she’s afraid .. a fear she’ll grow out off.. selling her shoes in street.. trusting her feelings .. as we all have… there’s no denying it

That’s the thing about that dress .. it is gorgeous.. stretching you up long beyond the flutter float of the hem… leaning against the wall.. I haven’t outgrown the need for these fingers plucking power from your neck.. that dress and the curve or your foot on the curb.. the print you left on the granite… there against the rocking of the washer .. the collection of beads and rhinestones fallen down.. I won’t outgrow it

That’s the thing about those thoughts.. and the truth of who we are when we trust ourselves, dashed like waves against the cliff side.. come together like waves against the rocks, thats the things about this skin, sliding off your shoulders…strings against your skin

“I want to see you in it again.. please”, she says, dress dangling from hand .. “I need to see you wear this again”

art credit : Intoxicated Woman In Red Dress — circa 1952 James Avati