I have an informal set of virtues.
I turn them inside out and wash resilient grass stains from the knees.
I wring them in my hands until they sing beautiful girl songs
and I hang them wet and backwards from the line by my window.
I attach them to the wind with a tack and I lay beneath them,
let the water drip along the downfall of my left cheekbone,
let the smell of pressed funeral flowers and beard oil peel back the smile from my lips.
© Laura A. Lord, 2020
Another thanks to MindLoveMisery for their prompt.