Are you naked under that apron?
Your sagged breasts smell of saffron and meat.
I knead, whimper rosebud
My hands grip the playdoh, twin
velveteen rabbits. I slink
mottled glimpses between straps of canvas
these nothing honey-mead links
You've rousted my monkey with fatback rouladen.
Your vichyoisse louses the cupboard.