The Dior of Desperation
If I could wear the sadness that you cause
Me, cloth of nails with tears would make the suit.
The Iron Maiden or the pharaoh’s gauze
Around the mummy would make pain transmute
To Galliano flair. The toque above my face
Would mean that I could master haute cuisine
Of suffering. Agony would be black lace
Around my throat. A wrapped round crepe de chine
Would torture both my arms that wanted you
As cloth from witch Medea on the form
Of love, as evil, fiery as a flue
Or like an aching silken blizzard storm.
A love of such design defies a cure
For tortured wearers of your haute couture.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Apr 19, 2025 | Uncategorized |