Exquisite Corpse, Installment 3

Your Fetish is Not Worth Talking About

Delicately I sit, dismembering the peel-off labels.
Did I write grocery lists with such malice?
At times I can’t seem to find my legs. In fact,
they were amputated, though lace veils their absence.
Beneath the serene preoccupation, I bleed.
The others cannot see the gashes
--they’re hidden by the cloth.
But a man of the cloth might peer under
the slippery skirts, scrying so succinctly.

~ASC, JLSC, DLB, LLC