I put her bra on first,
the firm foam hollow past my chest,
cold air still breathing past my nipples.

The thong came next,
its frill still agitating the tender skin,
the g-string like a dental-floss bandsaw.

Then a wig, tight jeans,
a halter top, some tweezing,
eyeliner, lipstick, foundation,
blush,
a thin glittery necklace,
a thin glittery bracelet,
a phantom woman in women's clothes,
the Trojan horse for an entire gender.

I no longer knew who I was.

I doubt she did either.

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