Butterfly Dress

This dress is made of butterflies.

They fly out of my closet by the hundreds, fluttering in seemingly random patterns around the bedroom before they begin to settle, one by one, onto my bare skin. I can feel their tiny feet sticking to me as they settle and position themselves, a swallowtail here, a mourning cloak there, a monarch on my hip. Their proboscises reach out and taste me, countless little tongues caressing me. The dust from their wings brushes off onto me and makes me sparkle in the light coming in from the window.

I twirl in place like a princess at a ball, and the butterflies lift their wings to catch the air, raising me several inches from the floor, setting me down again when my dervish moment passes. Weightlessness is intoxicating.

Satisfied, I hold my arms out from my sides and the butterflies launch off of me like a dust devil of blues and reds and blacks, spinning off on a thousand whispering wings, making one last pass through the bedroom before returning to their home in the closet. The ghost memory of their wings brushing like silk against my skin lingers for a few moments, leaving me quiet and pleased.

I’m so glad to see the dress still fits.

I was worried.

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4 Comments

  1. Well, I’ll be filing “like a dust devil of blues and reds and blacks” under, “Damn, I Wish I’d Written That.”

    I also want to click a shutter on my imagination at this very image and hold it.

    Reply
    • Kameko

       /  January 10, 2012

      I have some lovely things in my closet. You should come over and play dress up.

      There will be cookies!

      Reply
  2. Wish I could see that dress. Beautifully written!

    Reply
    • Kameko

       /  January 11, 2012

      I’d take a picture, but really some things, photos just don’t do justice to.

      Reply

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