Cloth I wrap
synthetically
a sluice of movement
and body-garbed
A slice of skin
cover
flapping in terrific
wind
Why not blow?
Anytime I feel
silk
I smooth my
wrinkles
and find them
all folded
for me
at one end
or the other
Why my form to skin?
I’ll close
like a closet
shut up
in perfect order
comfortable couch
worn like linen
til wash day
once more
or 'til
body-reformed.
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