For years she had lain naked with him
Now she wears a high-collared flannel gown
hiding scars like vertical zippers
on a concave chest
which she had bound in her past
choosing to abandon her natural jiggle
in favor of androgyny, the flapper aesthetic
At bacchanalian parties
she’d roll down her stockings
kick off her shoes
Charleston
a swing and a blur of purple fringe
Now she stands before him
Her gown drops to the floor
With a familiar appraising look
his eyes let her know without doubt
it’s true
he always was
more of a leg man
