Clothes.

I stand before you.
My clothes are filthy;
grimy, caked with mud.

I stare at your eyes
your gaze burns;
I turn away.

You approach me,
swiftly, your left foot
then your right.

You are in front of me,
I feel you,
though my eyes are now closed.

I feel your hands
brush my hair
from my face.

Don't do that
don't look at my face
I cry.


You are so gentle,
and you stop
until I open my eyes.

Your face is so near
that the heat
flushes my cheeks.

I look into your eyes
and you wipe the tears
from mine with your thumb.
 
Your hand hovers over me;
your fingers remove my
mud-stained clothing.

My garments fall to the ground,
pooled at my feet.
I look down, ashamed.

You bring my chin up
so I meet your gaze.
My shame is diminished.

You bring me to a mirror
and I look at my flesh,
ivory; clean.

My shoulders rise
as I see I am glowing.
I am new.

I look back for my clothes,
the stench of my old skin,
but they are gone.