still naked in the day

your fate is an armoire disguising
the dress to be worn in the rapture
your fondness for the kitten is
duly noted the increase of her days
spent clawing the furniture the armoire
has scratches on its 18th century feet

somewhere in the deepness of this
celluloid cavern is a tape of you
reading that scene in Sara Sara Jane
where the freaks from Scarritt pick you
up and you hear those desperate jokes
we wore like hats in them days

I admit I am a little afraid
to look in the armoire and see the
tuxedo I shall be wearing when we
share that dance beyond
I admit I took your chap down
last night and walked those narrow
lanes again remembering how badly

you played bridge that time
Jake and Joel beat you and Cheryl
that time you and Cheryl went to
see the guy who published Uzzano
and shared some serious sisterhood

the days are nights and the nights
are curtains hanging now beside
your armoire its beautiful polished
surface with bright brass fixtures
waiting for the opening now
waiting for the chance to wear
that gown in the night