The Garment

I would want the garment to be long
Flowing and lavish
Red sashes, as deep and concentrated as a black hole
Draping sleeves, revealing dainty wrists dressed like a salad with rubies
And slathered in luxurious balms and creams
The skirt would open like the petals of peonies
Layers of taffeta, silk, lace, skin
There may be a slit in the dress
For if I'm brave enough to present like this
I might as well make it my own
The fabric, though
Is what would make my dress Cinderella itself
It is woven with dreams
The bodice is made of myths, Achilles holds my clasp in place
While medusa smatters lace across my torso
And the turtle of creation wraps my shoulders in a dark, dense hug
The skirt is all made of the future
Billowy and long, falling perfectly
Woven with hopes of the future
Over there, that pinning is done by a law degree
Those hems saved kittens from a burning building
That juicy bow, delectable and attentive as a souffle
Is made by whispers of friends in the night
The back of the dress, however, is made of beasts of the night
Laced up with murder
Lacework falls like blood across my bare shoulders
And the deep, empty swoop of fabric that leaves my back bare
Reminds me of thousands of lonely nights
No matter what, every eye turns as I parade into the room
Innermost secrets plastered across my form