deluxe laundry service

I get on top

you look at me.

I take in the implacable force –

all my bare skin a low pink,

steak, rare, resting.

Me, looked at, by you.

Here, spots, there, hairs

our dirty clothes

everywhere

the curtain pregnant

with wind

my peach face

shaking

your hermetic mouth

a jar

curtain

postpartum.

Nobody smells the socks.

Nothing shifts but

all things.

blowing in the AC by jim moore