the dress

yesterday i wore a dress.

not sweatpants or ripped jean shorts.

yesterday i drank my black coffee

out of a tall wine glass

sipped, rather politely.

my mug stayed in the cabinet

gathering dust.

yesterday I cried perfume tears

instead of my regular tears

rhinestone beads of sweat

lined my forehead

and my feet protested

because my heels give me blisters.

my lips tasted of vanilla

and a hint of sugar

and i breathed your memory

in my cigarette smoke.

yesterday i unzipped my dress

two hands behind me

and my fingers trembled a little

because i remembered that when you would do it

my skin would turn hot

and my chest burned.

on the days I wear sweatpants

and don’t smile and pretend to listen

to people drinking dark red wine

i think of you less.

today i wore a dress

and a black lace thong

and i behaved myself.

does that mean you are coming for me?