This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

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that time in aging
when a parent worries that
fashion is contagious

when passion blooms overnight
in dark purple heat

when dressing up innocence 
in frills and ribbons
and budding breasts
goes without noticing
how much sex your body
can hold

we’re in training from the
age of three
to love lace and white
and undercoats

to be ready for the wild of love
but not daring enough to trust ourselves
and listen

It was only a baby-doll tee
but I guess you’re right,
this isn’t me.