good children.

for mary

this silk robe was my great grandmother's;
i chose it amongst the few things she had to offer
as her body filled with more morphine
than her tiny frame could house.
it's been suspended by closet doors
for twelve years,
it no longer holds her scent, that i
can't place anyway,
but i still press my nose to it
seeking a few sentimental fibers.
i tried it on for the first time this year
post-coital, sticky with his
tiny hairs clinging to my thighs,
a 1950s sex starved house wife vibe
soon embraced me,
and i wanted to make his dinner,
pull bobby pins from my hair,
wear red lipstick.
she was always matured and firm,
i wouldn't take leopard to be her color
but she must've swayed sultry for
napoleton tony blue eyes,
the same sway i practice
for tawny italian boys.