Crepe.

Crepe paper dressings
and a mess of light stockings
as they fall from my legs
but I'm only watching.

Soft rain from the porch
Duffbulb on tar gleamed puddles;
Moon’s stuffed behind a bush;
and it's bold night beautiful.

And I can see you on the swing;
Shadow silhouette gone cold,
and honestly, I'm unnerved,
behind the 20feet and door.

I can't see your eyes,
and I wouldn't want to now,
Auditorium dead
Lights off, & cold freezeframe.

I can feel the polaroid
wispy thin & flaky in your hands
you can stay the hell outside,
I'm older now, paedophile.