my love is a tight
white glove
fitted to your whole body
cast it not off
wear this for me
so I can caress
you all over and leave
no telling trace
on your actual
sweet skin
so rosy and glowing
it dazzles me
this barrier between us
soothes me
its close fit ensures no
loss of sensation
you are a white swan
pirouetting on points
far above
my grubby love
encased in your white glove
you can touch
but not be touched as
best befits you
you can handle
the dusty old leaves
of an illuminated book
look but not be sullied
you can perform magic
pull from your tall hat
all the white rabbits
we require
you can attend a polite
old fashioned party
converse and drink milky tea
with an adoring me
oh dear one
don’t disdain my love
can’t you see it fits you
like a glove
?
Image: Hilma af Klint, The Swan (1914).