Closing the door I lean
against it, exhale gently,
savouring the breeze.

Heaving at my coat I feel
it fall to the carpet,
crumple with a shrug.

I slip burning feet from achy shoes
and step to face myself, my twin;

she copies me - but I do not care - 
as I expose shoulders,
ankles, hips and knees,
the frame.

Leather and wool
and silk, replaced by lace
then skin on skin, warm
glowing.

I face her again,
in all her glory, growing
pains and vanity
yet she seems full;

fully dressed,
belle of the ball.