She spent 6 months sewing;
I walked into her house, carrying violets
With exquisite fibre.
‘You could have sold it’
'I don't like veils' I informed her, as I put one on
Halo like, a bouquet of honesty seeds around my face
And she went for one with polka dots, 'a 1930's style lace'
Then we found gloves, with buttons
And dead elastic baby blue garters
'this is hideous and tacky'
'I know, and it's kind of morbid and scary'
And it did feel like we were trampling on virgin dreams
As we rifled through tattered dresses with name tags on them: Gwen, Louise and Steven.
Then we argued.
About whether or not a woman ever lived, who was called Steven.
And I fought for the right to name children stupidly
Every God given day
Though I don't believe it, I was just feeling argumentative and contrary
And had to have my own way.
'Let's have tea' she said,
Pinning sashing on above her jeans, garland for her waist.
We ate red velvet cake, which always looks so enticing
Pin pricks of blood, congealing.
Her mouth; brightly stained, pillar red, as she said
‘I was reading, from this book I found in the shop,
And then we started laughing. And couldn’t stop.