Yes, I remember that dress:
slut nail red - the hair was another shade -
simple-cut, a scarlet mutation
of every woman's lbd.
You wore those patterned stockings
that tattooed spiders' webs on your legs.
So long - so very long – ago;
the day red-lettered when you made
casually clear a cruel intention
to depart a defunct marriage.
I stayed glued to the crazing patterns
you had woven around my broken heart.