““she said, when I wear these boots no one fucks with me when I tie my past like a scarf around my throat I can freeze the blood of every naive and unabashed up-and-comer when I slide on my desire like glowing black stockings I can make the uninitiated beg for the feel of raw and stinging wood and when I slip my angry black leather belt from its rusty hook the ambitious and guileless cower like a thousand condemned souls when I close my fist, my rings golden with a youth well spent the warriors of Gilead surrender with a breathless whimper and when my shoulders feel the rough comfort of my serape woven with the fibers of a fierce and relentless vengeance you will soon realize these are not my clothes after all, she says, they are warning signs””
