A defrocked Casanova,
Clothes discarded much like his faith,
Spotted the halos
Spilling over with chanted hymns
In the market of the mundane.

Practicing his scandals
He smoked his weight in Marlboros
And chased his way
Through the nunnery,
Succeeding at every turn.

The lucky ones are allowed
To slip through silken dainties,
Press their skin against warmth,
Breathe in the cleavage
Like clothes tumble-dried.

The rest hang in the closet
Snaps and clips and buttons
Holding them closed, unused
In the dark
Wishing they were happier clothes.

When the coat rack gives way
And they are dropped like conversations
When death enters the room,
They will once more gain the chance
To walk among the world
And see the sights.