She saw his hand in the texture of her wardrobe,
his tasteful preference wanted her in silk and satin
and in the night time, black lace.
The drape of each piece he had delivered,
boxed in tissue,
and red ribbon;
each lent life to her days.
She dressed for the performance in the colours of his palette,
her bits tied up, neatly,
in ribbon beneath.
The collection of his choices she willingly attended;
her closet- a playground- spun in the colors
of sultry cuts
She knew one thing for sure when it came to the dressing: always trust in a loving man’s eye.