Alone in my closet, of manifold wrappings, I look for the one that suggests a sly gift. Perhaps a suit, like a lawyer in court? He’d deduce pretense. A logical No. The hippie skirt with tasseled brown top? Opinionated, he’d think, She’s full of herself. Should I look slinky, revealing and bare? Too bold, he’d muse with a smirk. Maybe jeans and a shirt, clothes a man could wear? A tigress, he’d see. And God knows I’m not. The old-lady dress for impressing the folks? A preacher for sure, she’s in for the kill. The cotton print shift, casual and free? She doesn’t care, won’t even dress up. A gift in red velvet, conservative, plain? Not cliché, or elegant, but alluring in form. Yes, he will ponder and say with a grin, She inspires imagining.