everywhere i look, emerald seduction.

yards of drapey, flouncy, twirly skirt;

flashing me in my most adored color.

katie-land {a more fetching word than brain doncha think?} is already fancying up story-lines where i strut this splendid swaddle.

scene 1

my meeting with the big guns:

armed with pluck and groove, i wordlessly say it all with my style.

get outta my way boys, i wear the pants in this room.

scene 2

when the boy i’m soft on turns up,

my shoulders and defenses come down.

i’ll need pretty pleats that swish and sway for dancing slow spontaneously in the kitchen, or while waiting in line for peppermint ice cream.

he doesn’t need music; i don’t need a dance-floor.

scene 3

when the dames want to yuck it up with tequila shooters and ‘woo to the hoo’s’ at the bar;

i’ll have just the right sass and shake circling my hips to get that 4th round on the house.

scene 4

{yes, i know it’s not a skirt. but it’s fucking celine. make an exception here}

scene 5

she rarely comes out….but the vamp exists.

dark lighting, dark rum, and a dark, kelly green helps.

hold on to yer hats and glasses, her mouth is foul and her humor filthy.

scene 6

a fairy skirt for fairy-tale endings.

swirling fantasy and imagination from my ankles up to my eyes.

fabric so fancy miss scarlet herself would be itchy with envy.

i’m inspired to create, love, and kiss.

scene 7

this is the girl i long to be the most.

the explorer. the traveler. the nomad.

she’s on a street somewhere, passport in her pocket; half on assignment, half playing hooky.

no blackberry, laptop, ipod, or watch.

the city is her soundtrack, the sun keeps her time.

the freedom.

it almost hurts.


thank you for twirling with me m’loves.