elegy to my body in a corset.

i wasn't in love with
you-- i was in love with being
wanted because isn't that
what we're all in love with
anyway? and yes i know
i did crave to be your
object but it's no fun
to be a muse for
another artless boy
who uses a girl-body for 
inspiration only of his mouth--
what will you eat of
me today?
stole words to sew them
into black lace--
the calliope of scream
weave me body machine--
the corset was only the wrapper--
each clip another
unsung promise to fall in love
with a part of me he
couldn't peel the wrapping
paper off of--
a corset makes you 
feel like a tasty cake--
flesh moist-- blush in 
the sunset oven--
so so so so many bows
to undo--
the puzzle of the little
boys peeling cellophane off our
bodies like shoe laces--
a corset is one way 
of unlearning how to breathe--
a lesson in silence
and pulling yourself tighter
and tighter until
you diminish into only his
word of mouth--
this is the making of a muse
who wrote her own body 
to relive his notion of art in herself--
i never wrote a poem in a corset
but my body was a different type
of poetry when the sun 
lit me right in the window--
yes i won't lie to you--
i find myself 
delectable now-- 
i'm not looking for an audience--
the night paints the back of my
window into a full-length mirror
i know you can watch me 
but this is not for you--
this is a elegy to my
body in a corset--
a photograph gnawed
in his hungry teeth--
the space between our ribs
is where you're supposed to
start dismantling us from--
pull the bow-- sink with 
me-- cover my face with a bed sheet--
naked and cream-filled body--
i wore my hair
in a sheet of a icing--
tasty cake girl 
eat yourself in a mirror--
peel off the black lace from 
the rim of the corset--
turn the frill and arabesque
back into stanza--
i'm writing my body back
into a poem--
written on the fogged
glass of the bed room window--
oh oh oh
there's nothing left
that could be held in by a bow
fixed between my ribs--