Meditations on a Black Dress

By Charles Carson

Lace covers wool,
Wool covers cotton,
Cotton covers skin.
I long to touch them all;
To unbutton the lace,
To remove the wool,
To remove the cotton and
Feel the skin beneath.
The red of the lace
Quickens my blood.
The black of the wool
Burns my soul.
The unseen white cotton mimics
The imagined alabaster
Of her skin.
Does she suspect
What I feel when I
Hear
See
Smell
Sense
Her move?
Does she want me
To touch her?
Would she let me
Touch her?
But to touch
Even if invited
To do so is forbidden.
To dream is torture.
Not to dream is death.