At night the curls are pinned up
Flexible, odd rods
Medusa, snaking in all directions.
Daylight reveals tight spirals gently combed
Waves and twirls
Shifting highlights in the sun,
A peek of gray.

The foundation is uniform
But flat. Simple.
Under her eyes a swipe of blue liner
Fake lashes swish her glasses lenses
Librarian frames.
Her lips aren’t plush,
But they are sleek
Glossy.

A dress tickles her knees.
Block heels.
A necklace earrings some designer bag.

I want her.
I want to slide into her flesh until hers
Is mine.

But she is across an ocean
Galaxies away
My feet clad in dirty flip flops.
Hair in a sloppy braid.
Ripped jeans – a fall, not fashion
T shirt
Wrinkles bare
Flaws exposed.

She is all I want.
I hate me. This me.
I was a her. I had a job and a reason
To care
Some days someone noticed
Some days not.
Now who would I dress up for, the dog?
Does he have prefences? Are they naugahyde?

I don’t just long for her clothes.
It’s everything
Her time
Her chance for compliments.
The appreciation she may receive.

I long to be what I was
But I can’t find my way back.