Hanging in commonplace closets of plaster, <br />tempting colors from the emotions, the silk <br />slips like hidden thoughts from the body, <br /> <br />allowing a history of its own to flourish: <br />names, faces, symbols, intentions, which <br />are unknown. Questions are in the stitches; <br /> <br />and in the beckoning, as it is seen and absorbed. <br />A world opened. A forest steeped in radical <br />assumptions. Goodness held darkness. <br /> <br />There is the sight of black; there is its urging. <br />In the sense of it, a new sense approaches - <br />approaches from the heart of the apparel. <br /> <br />What can I do? Place my hands on the surface? <br />Or place your hands on my eager hands, <br />to be adorned, densely, in night-soaked cloth.<br /><br />Lamont Palmer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/little-black-dress/
