Mari Ness - The tale of a lady and a hat:

For benpeek, leylinewalker, and coldecho:



The compliment:

A tingling tale of a fedora hat.

The couplet:

She loved him – she had no question of that –
Even though he wore a fedora hat.

The triplet:

In truth, he rarely took it off –
Unless he wished his hat to doff.
(He was, in truth, quite a show-off.)

The quatrain:

And he had said he would love her in a hat –
he had said this the first day they met.
They had never slept together. Not yet.
She knew she loved him – but she never said that.

The paradine:

She put a fedora upon her head,
Wondering if he would leave her in bed,
she had always left those words unsaid.
Wondering if he would leave her in bed,
she put a fedora upon her head.

The triat:

And nothing, nothing, nothing more:
No silks, no shirts, no other thing
Only this hat he would adore.

Would he think this was just a fling?
She had stripped herself to her core.
She waited. What would the hat bring?


The hexadine:

From below, the sounds of an open door
She waited for his hat to appear.
"I'm wearing only a hat in here!"
she shouted. He entered. His hat fell to the floor.

From below, the sounds of an open door.
He swallowed. "I invited the guys over for beer –"
She jumped. "Course, that was – before –"

The triolet:

"Guys in the house! I’m totally nude,"
she said, with a gasp caught in her throat.
"Oh, god, this could be so misconstrued –
Guys in the house! I'm totally nude!"
"I think I should just venture to note –
You're wearing a hat," he argued.
"Guys in the house! I'm totally nude,"
She said, with a gasp caught in her throat.

The novet:

"You're wearing a fedora hat," he repeated.
"Just please go away before they come in and sneer."
"You can't leave my sex drive like this – overheated!"
She stared at him, flushing. "Am I not being clear?"

"I want you. Now," he simply said.

He reached down for his hat, and leapt towards her, panting.
"They're downstairs," she hissed. He kissed her. "So? If they hear –
I don't care. I want you. No more of your ranting."
(Downstairs, his friends grumbled loudly. "Dude! Where's your beer!")

The decalet:

His lips brushed her cheek. Her face flared with heat.
He reached for a breast with a trembling hand:
Her head seemed to spin. "Where should I begin,"
he whispered, "I cannot withstand your chest –
I must eat it. Now. Your skin is so sleek –"

He stroked her feet; she could not speak.
She said nothing, and his hands still caressed -
she felt shudders within, pulsing her skin.
His hand pressed her face. He kissed the hatband.
It was quiet, oblique. She tasted defeat.

The baroline

And she heard the voices below, still talking,
and her fingers shook. He had not said it – yet;
and at any time, his friends could start knocking.

He ripped off his shirt, placed his hat on his head,
and kissed her hat. She felt his lips through her hair.
Her breath caught. "Do you always wear this to bed?"
he asked. "It's marvelous. Quite gives you a flair."
His lips pressed again, hard, I love you, unsaid.

But she reached for his mouth, trying not to regret
not hearing those words. She could not start walking.
And she knew one truth: she was already wet.

The pantoum

She kissed him – the sweetness of his tongue
could twist all other thoughts from her mind.
She held on to her hat; to his skin she clung.
His hand brushed her breast. The heat of their legs, entwined

could twist all other thoughts from her mind.
She could not breathe. This was love, she was sure.
His hand brushed her breast. The heat of their legs, entwined
shook her to her core. He entered her.

She could not breathe. This was love, she was sure.
She kissed him – the sweetness of his tongue
shook her to her core. He entered her.
She held on to her hat. To his skin she clung.

The Welsh chain

Scattered moments later, she kissed his hand,
branding the taste of his skin on her lips.
Slipping her arm around his, she sighed,
tried to kiss his wrist. He shifted slightly,
freeing his arm. "I should go," he said,
heading away from her. "The guys will wonder."
Her heart skipped a beat. "The guys?" she asked.
Masked, his eyes said nothing. He kissed her cheek,
speaking lightly. "They'll drink up all the beer."
Leering, he added, "But I'll soon be back."
Racking her mind for something she could say,
praying mutely, she gasped, "You love me, true?"
"You? Hmm. I don"t know. I do love the hat."

The sonnet

It takes but a word to shatter a heart:
it takes but a word to rebirth a soul.
She lay trembling, raw, feeling torn apart:
she lay trembling, hot, a new-lit coal.
Love had never sprung easily to her:
She had hungered, yes, but rarely tasted.
She had walked love's pathways alone, unsure.
She had wondered if her soul was wasted.
And now, to find love, but love unreturned –
Her mouth tasted ashes. She could have wept.
To find love could sear, yet leave her unburned –
She could have died, but her reborn soul leapt.
She put the fedora on her bare head.
She would find success in another bed.