The Husband with Clothes

Who doesn’t like a bit of flash, 
                                              a pop of red
                                                      like a nosebleed 
                        dribbling down a crisp white shirt?
To catch the eye requires a touch
             of violence
                      that spreads along threads like a bloom.

But if the clothes make the man, then the man
       is already unmade. A man like that is one loose thread
          away from annihilation. 

I need no adornment, but I know the value
                                             of the machined 
       tension that holds a snake in place. 

So it is that the silhouette of my body
                                       in our bedroom
                          is like a gate 
                      swung open to the darkness
             I button up every morning,
so it is that I tug my cuffs
                           until a slice of white
             appears, just enough
                              to signal my attention to detail.