fat?

 

 

 

I can feel the boning of your girdle when I zipped your dress up. I think your gaining weight.

But not until I grab your arm and turn your fat lips, again, to face mine.

Fanning me is ok, since you left argil cake on the telephone handet, and smudged lipstick,

together delicious ambrosia;

red and yellow lard and sugar.

Perfume, meat and cheeses and

dairy and good wine and snacks,

Doritoes, Moon Pies, Twinkies

stacked end to end

in a thousand miles of large

intestines.

What else can happen

but a big a*s, far past the altar,

and love handles,

oil-glands to carry you

away to

the empyrean?