Costume -somewhat facetious but i'm never sure


I am a marshmallow blossom in my
wedding dress.
The chest is too big for me,
I am a small girl in woman's clothes.
This is borrowed;
I needn't trouble yet with fear
for the life in the afterward.

I gather and swirl the skirts of my
creampuff lingerie finery.
My costume designer, darling,
fulfils my every
feminine fantasy.
It fills my eyes with tears,
that I may wrap myself

in such stained whites.
My corners curl;
next to these petticoats I will always
be pink and plain, and the pearls
are not even pearls.
If such things can make me moan
how could you doubt I am a girl?