Corset

Day 12, PAD Challenge. Prompt: A "form" or "anti-form" poem.

there's no whalebone, yet, she's
found, strong enough to make her hold
to a form, so, take all your
madsong madrigals, your
hexameter hemming and hawing,

stifling her breathing, corseted
into an hourglass? Never!

but to be held fast by
your arms--oh, yes, to
that she would agree, the
reforming of her form, too,
.....most agreeable...

so stuff the terza rima,
the capitolo, too, into the
casserole dish and freely
form your hand to hers,
unformed, unmade, together