Tonight I will sleep with my shoes,
because they are the sexiest people I know.
Beads and silk linen, leather and ribbon
for lace. Rubber, even that!
Okay: I'll be a photograph
and won't you come over and take me?
Yes, I mean it. Or we can go in your car
because it's summer
and my hair is wet and drying in the wind
into cinnamon-and-coffee waves that spin heads
at traffic lights. It helps. It helps more
than oil changes or rematches.
It eases all the pain like spider-webs or opals.
Let's have someone wrap us up tightly
in crayon wrappers, label us with names
that make people blush.
I'll be cunt-pink if you'll be rope-white. Oh my!
My red slippers go where they don't belong.
Let's make your floor
a poppy-covered safety-zone. Dance all I want?
I do plan on it, my pretty mouth dripping
with porcelain paint. You won't mind,
you won't. You'll kiss me like mint
floating over rum in Cuba.
Ice cubes will lose all their memory,
honey, you'll be surprised.