Key Knight

Blanketed full of keys, dress, it shimmers.
Throat that sucker on.
clasp the back, it glimmers.
Like roof tiles layered down and back,
zip it up and walk
a mile down the city streets.
Clinks as it sways; my armor, my release.
Walking down the street
in a dress made of keys.
Each door I walk past
I try each lock
to see if it will open for me.
Gold, Silver, Brass, Copper.
These little slices of metal dangling on my skin
rattle as I fail to open any doors,
and yet, the hope snogs me, caresses me, gently,
wind pouring through the trees
as I let the keys stay on my body.
I feel the sharp metal sting me.
Chill me. Cold me shallow as a sway.
One long crusted rusted two-pronged key rests
between my delicate clavicle.
I tear it off the collar of the dress and roll its dull copper exterior
between my inferior fingers.
Two-pronged. Old-fashioned. Out-of-date.
Then, spotted between two fantastical Oaks, is the house.
Black rimmed, white slats painted grey as my irises in bright light.
Just the edges. I walk up, key dress clinking.
Feeling like a knight in shining armor, I waltz barefoot to the door,
a hulking brown wooden barrier. Not even a peephole.
Only a knocker shaped like an owl’s head.
Silver as one of the keys dangling over my breast.
I knock. No one answers.
I slide the rusted, two-pronged key into the slot and turn.
It clicks, and I enter.