| *loolaville _poetry | |||||
| The Issue "All she can do is to put it out on the rack, and if some gal comes along and falls in love with it, and it fits, she'll sell it. It's the only way to get a refund. Six hundred and forty nine dollars. "Okay." "Are you sure you don't want to think about it?" Ivory white, as smooth as the softest, cleanest shell, waiting to be carved to fit my shoulders, breasts, and hips. "I don't need to. I don't want it anymore." "Well, okay...." It set off the shoulders, highlighting my collar bones and neck, which appeared more long and graceful because of my boy-cut hair. The back fell just below my tattoo on the edge of my left shoulder blade. There were lots of tiny buttons all down the back, with a sweet little bow at the rear that I never did like. "Maybe we could just hold on to it?" "I'm not getting married. Even when i do, I won't want it." Never did like the train either. It was too long and formal, holding onto the edge of the skirt, as if it was afraid to be something of it's own. "Alright, I'll let her know." I guess only the tattoo is changeless. |
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