You’re a ten digit pin# now
allowed three changes of clothes
nothing with strings. Do bra straps count?
Your clothes and mine
separate now
hang and lie
suddenly
dingy and mute.
Now removed for your safety
protected
not from me but from yourself
I have no choices to make
but your wardrobe.
You never see it coming
until you must crucify yourself
create a display and hope someone
can remove spikes and treat wounds.
Each time you’re broken apart
reassembled by chemical agents
restitched without patterns
and
always there are left over bits
flotsam puffed away, out of sight
like lint in a dryer vent
your color, your fabric left diminished.