Tennessee

rain fell, staccato-drops against the deck.
what you made me feel at that moment, i'm not sure--
i wanted to be alone
but wanted you around--does it matter
anyway? i needed
the rain for another hour, falling
from the bright southern sky, out of place
and unsure of itself, what purpose
and right it had to be here.

.notch.by.notch.

Button one way, button another. Mens and women's clothing seem to mirror each other.
As I've heard it, the chiral nature of clothing was supposed to make it easier for servants to dress their masters, and women being dressed more often than men, everything was flipped on women's clothing to make it easier.
But that seems to make little difference in belt directions, which are apparently flipped as well, though who's to say, since you could very well go whichever direction you fancy with belts:
clockwise
counterclockwise.

And what does that say about men, women, people around us? Are they trying to turn back the clock of their waistlines, tightening themselves into the posture of their primes? Are they trying to zip ahead, squeezing themselves into aged obscurity?

Because it seems either way, we are all slowly tautening the nooses around our bodies
notch by notch,
carving away at our silhouettes until we are finally content.
Until we've whittled away at that round block enough to wedge it through the square hole in our self-appreciation.

All in good time.
Notch by notch.