AND I LIKE THAT AS WELL
We have men and ladies shopping at the
Proto-Garage for small and lacy underthings.
They all seem so candy-like, the caramelized
surplus of plums and cookies and creams.
Nothing worth nothing, to be almost concealed
but not quite. 'We only want to suggest coverage,
you see,' the fey one is saying outside the store,
smoking a brown cigarette and leaning on the
bus-stop post, 'a nipple is still a nipple. whether
it's partially covered or not - even for the girls,
we merely want to titillate, leaving things only
quite unseen.' I think to myself, 'they must
teach this shit in some lingerie school.'
I really think Victoria's Secret was that she
wore nothing at all underneath her heavy
clothing. How else to pierce that darkness
of night of the era which now, obliquely,
bears her name alone?
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