Unclothed

Turn around and see the remains of wishes,
withering and melting in smoke and ashes,
transforming desire into unfulfilled dreams.
There, on the floor, the clothes of hope
wallow in despair, restless in the realization
that desire is clad not in canvass but in sheer
costumes, garb that shreds in the gentlest breezes.
The illusion of fashion toys with us, hiding our
naked vulnerability behind a veil of smoke and
invisible vapor, shielding us from nothing and
protecting us only briefly from our visions of
ourselves, the people we are now and forever.