(Thank you to Geling Yan)

No Burka for me. This lace is sheer as my skin & I see pink, a mellowing rose. My blood blushes but must be kept from boiling. Though my chest spreads with a phoenix so brilliantly embroidered facing east for a sunrise, my bound silk feet will leave not a trace.

Flames from ash & back again as wife- husband, what whoring I was sold into, kidnapped to be so stitched as our custom dictates by such finery of red.

Odd that the seams of my lips are disguised a pale peach & my eyes almond glow only a smoldering black with the widest of pupils.

What cool insight they see, recollecting your braid as ink bleeding over my fingers in the white blessing basin.

That mane was your devil's tail got rid of for a time with the anointing comb's oil & your strong neck suddenly too vulnerable should my hands decide to squeeze.

But no, my freedom was to be pleasing, & now I need that strength to walk from these gallows certified pure for your honor, sir, & married at last, married.