hey what’s this frozen on the floor bit?
just get at it and stamp something already.
Rubber? Good enough, get rubbery
– that dirty squeaky friction –
lick where sweat is – maybe beads
are a crop across her caramel
acreage. Careful looking up
at the one whose tassels are
tawny – gaze is glossy chocolate
and fashioned to melt defenses
to milk – readiness perpetual
for a nightlong swinging swab
with or without the sodden
cotton panel. Suffocation
for this rubber. So be it.