this button wants
free of its placket,
will slip the leash
at the first inkling it can
these cobwebs whisper
what’s beneath
donned lightly
the sooner to slide off again
lines imprinted in skin
traced with a finger
this clasp wants
unmoored from its hook
one strap slinks lower
and lingers
silk pooling darkly
in the crook
equal to: not true 