I am wearing the same dress
as the night that we met.
The night we met, your eyes
flicked the bias of my silhouette,
clamped me in a gentle vice
you are meant be here, you are right.
There is this peace
to being restricted.
Tonight, I am wearing the same dress.
Your eyes scoop dust from every dim corner,
searchlights stress the room.
Home is an unknown, sex is just a passport.
I am untethered, like a party balloon.
This is starting to bore me.