If it is only for the taking off--
the velvet cloak,
the ostrich feather boa,
the dress which slithers to the floor
with the sound of strange men sighing
on imagined street corners. . .

If it is only for the taking off--
the red lace bra
(with rosewindows of breasts),
the red lace pants
(with dark suggestion
of Venus' first name),
the black net stockings
cobwebby as fate,
criscrossed like our lives,
the silver sandals
glimmering as rain--

clothes are necessary.
Oh bulky barrier between soul & soul,
soul & self--
how it comforts us
to take you down!
How it heartens us to strip you off!

& this is no matter of fashion.

© Erica Mann Jong

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