I love how it brings out your essence. A woman at ease with herself. You wear it as a scarf. It is looped twice around your neck.
Once for the shame. Twice for the fame.
I love how it demands my attention. Look at me, way up here like the sky. You cannot touch me. But I can, and I stretch out my hand and meet yours. Bony fingers, the long, slender kind that are a sight to behold when you eat chapati…slowly, shredding it to pieces, layer by layer. Let’s move on to better colors, shall we?
Go change that lesso into a mat. It does not suit you! It screams of bubblegum and we both know how quick those Gomba gums run out of sugar!
Demure. Bold, sexy and something like the silence at a funeral when the spouse is going to give an eulogy. It is the beginning of us. It is the end of you. It is nothing infinite, but everything finite. Take it off, please, you are giving me a headache.
Strong. Understanding just like the earth, you take in everything without complaining. I see you. You think you see me. Close your eyes and I’ll write you a song, carve it in your soul, release it to the world, make you a star.
There are no black lessos, but you can pretend you are wearing one and take slow sultry steps towards me. I will play you a song, get you to dance to my beat. Black. Black. Black. Remove the ‘B’ and tell me what you lack.
You see what I did there, after telling me what you lack I showed you something White. Come on, go get dressed, tie this white lesso around your 33 waist and 39 hips and go for a swim.
You do not have to tell me you hate it. Show me. Whatever you do, do not tear my lessos, they are gifts.
They tease and please.
The give and receive. They are mine.
Maybe, you too are…mine, just like the colors and patterns weave a story on lessos.