Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I asked if she would mind if somehow I’d
attempt to try to sly manipulate
the possibilities of fate that seem
so utterly at odds with happiness
these days, but still so open to a hope
of wishful alteration like a seam
let out, her bridal gown’s best perfect fit.
I saw her wardrobe; I took stock of it—
successive costume changes in a dream
of vivid “Why not?” questions. By the rope-
tail of a naked light bulb comet (bless
its chipper sheen), I figured safe to dream
of something like a change as if her weight
of facts could be relaxed away, aside.