"Boy in Stolen Evening Gown" by Saeed Jones (Example Post)

In this field of thistle, I am the improbable

lady. How I wear the word: sequined weight

snagging my saunter into overgrown grass, blonde

split-end blades. I waltz in an acre of bad wigs.

Sir who is no one, sir who is yet to come, I need you

to undo this zipped back, trace the chiffon

body I’ve borrowed. See how I switch my hips

for you, dry grass cracking under my pretend

high heels? Call me and I’m at your side,

one wildflower behind my ear. Ask me

and I’ll slip out of this softness, the dress

a black cloud at my feet. I could be the boy

wearing nothing, a negligee of gnats.