Formalwear is toughest—
so suit or dress, so senior prom,
binary bursting
from every corsage
and boutonniere.
The day before a wedding
my wife and I tear through
our closets, model outfits
for each other in hopes
we’ll find something
that doesn’t feel like a costume,
but like our own skin.
We try on words: butch,
femme, androgynous, stud.
But language always fails.
The children we won’t birth
line up on the shelf like shoes,
the men we won’t love
hang limp
on their hangers
in the back.