Richard Godwin, 01/12

Lost Contours

Where will you find me when I am gone
and you lose your hands within the quiet folds of your dress
as it reminds you of all those clothes
you wore as a young woman and hated

Did they try to humiliate you by making you wear them
as if they would alter you piece by piece
and did you think to transform the men
you know you wanted to find you beneath the pleats that bore decay

Or was it that you lost your face and
the contours of you beneath the person you became
and that the clothes were all that mattered in the end
as if they held the shape of you

The imprint you wanted to make
was not left in the memories of the crowds you passed
at the exhibition of your life
they watched you from afar like spectators at a show

It was not there in the close engagements you needed
or the hungry touch of lovers who left you cold
it is there only in your clothes
the rags and velvets you let fall now

As you stand and look at yourself
naked and alone with only the mirror your silent ungiving spectator
you see the lines have changed and time has done
his doing

And beyond the glass you clutch at your face and touch it
Seeking yourself
Knowing that they cast you away
As you have shed your clothes

Promote. Poetry.
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