It starts after everything important is over.
The lights are low, the room is a little undone.
Nothing needs to impress anymore.
She keeps traces of girlhood; ribbons, pearls, lace.
They sit differently on her now.
Pieces in "Pillow Talk" move the same way a secret does: quietly, intimately.
Structure interrupted by something delicate; a silhouette that suggests control, then gently lets it go.
Something unbuttoned, but not on purpose;
A sleeve slipping lower than it should.
She doesn't fix it.
Some things are only ever said like this; low, close, almost kept.
What did you last whisper?
