Stained

Blot the spilt emotion.
Dry, empty,
but lasting from pasts.
It is still there
permeating the fabric of your soul.
A stain of play
in a closet of ruin.
Darkening threads
of gilded clothes
worn in layers.
I'll hide the each one
over a body
that is the most damaged
in flooded rich colors.
These decorations swoon
in the beauty
of moonlight.
All you see is a silhouette
and never care
if there is a blemish fluidity
in this linen and lace
that hides
so much more.