when the hunt ends

in the beginning

she'd slip into something more comfortable.
something
silk
and transparent.

tied together with fragile thin strings.
she'd be
a walking

whisper entering the candle lit
room

full of al green and marvin gaye,
teddy

music on the speaker.

but in a few months,
she'd clothe herself in burlap,

showerless, her body wrapped
in barbed wire.

game over. the hunt was over.