Cross Dressing

In satin folds, the mirror's gaze, A softened shape, a quiet haze, I feel the silk, the thread, the lace, The warmth, the tenderness, the grace. Where fabric whispers, secret sewn, A borrowed world becomes my own; Each stitch and hem, each line and seam, Drapes me in fragments of dream's. Feminine strength, the gentle power, Blooms quietly, a midnight flower— Here lies no shame, but something sweet, The mingling heart, the burning heat. Between the masks, a soul stands bare, No she or he, just breath and air— In woven light, I touch the whole, The silk of skin, the threads of souls.