You bought it because you said it clashed with my copper hair,
made a crash of colour,
Made me stand out from the safe and grey and timid.
I opened the box it came in expecting discrete, modest glint
and found these red beads
their weight pressing small silvered discs into blue velvet.
Extravagant in their number, they looked
confident of their beauty.
They weighed heavily on my neck,
a rash of polyps moulding to my collarbones,
I’ve been mesmerised by this Miriam Haskell necklace. I keep looking at it and then staring into the middle distance in some lustful reverie. I simply want to own it, keep it safe in a box, know that it’s mine.
It won’t happen. Someone else has it and as far as I know, there is only one.