Work Text:
13
Under this canopy once erected for the Noble heir’s bed, I’m a full-body portrait for him to look at: scars, gauntness, damage drawn by hardships in my beautiful life. Yes, beautiful – happy at moments.
Wearing my ancient sweatshirt, he hasn’t exposed everything. But unlike mine his feet are bare, ice-cold – touching my shins when he kneels over me.
“Help me take off one pair...” I say.
It’s tricky when there’re two layers of wool. We’re howling with laughter, but we succeed before he guesses my goal.
Both wearing socks, with feet slipping on the floor, we’re gliding in dance.