You chose the clothes for me to wear
a chic French dress to suit your
mood.
A pin-up print tight against my skin
concealing nothing from your
gaze.
Our breath mingling as we embraced,
your hands heat felt through
thin fabric
hotter still beneath the hem.
Upon the bed you held me down
the dress weak deterrent to desire.
Riding
higher as you scratched my skin,
caught I writhed beneath you
fearful
that you'd stop.
Pulled higher the dress traps my arms
pinioned by a
pin-up print.
I gave my trust to you.
You chose the clothes for me to
wear.
