Monday Sonnet: On clothes

My clothes are like the sun: they’re yellow! That’s
As much of a poetic simile
As I can think of (plus, from what I see,
The sun is white – and makes us squint like bats.
In this it’s more like modern wedding-garbs).
I feel to write on clothes is pointless. They
Are their own language, their bright colours say
I am, I am, I am, they’re speech in shards.
In this, they hide much less than they reveal.
The King is naked, say they. It is true.
To him alone his vests are no big deal,
He knows he is their slave, which only few
Think kingly, but he is – and he will feel –
Not impotent when clothes-less. Now are you?