This Is My Naked Era

Welcome

Photo by Kasto on Canva

I no longer need clothes.

Perhaps to keep warm, on special occasions, boots for the rain, boots for the snow.

I no longer want to be buttoned or laced. Or zipped or pinned or tucked or lifted or separated or gusseted or cosseted or squished or suction-cupped. Or stuck or stuffed or squashed or squelched or sandwiched or winnowed or wedged or diminished.

I want to be without bra line.

I want to walk about a flat in an open silk robe, teal peacock on the back, with a record playing. Smoke cigarettes off a terrace in Europe. And I want the smoking to not be bad for me.

I want to be Undone, Unkept, Unadorned. I want to be Un-contained and Uncontainable. I want to live a Life of Capitalization.

There should be a café au lait. There should be art; Joni Mitchell. Fresh flowers. A baguette, a loyal dog. Old architecture, piles of books. A typewriter; a terrace with a cool breeze.

I want to feel the sun on my winter parts, rain on my chest, air between my thighs.

I want to inhale mountaintop and mist and morning. I want to be nourished and nourishing.

I want earth and sand and stone under my toes. I want elements — to…