Wet afternoon in a Haberdashery

I am not ma'am, young shop boy with the tight can

whose waist makes me hungry for denim.

Oh, retail captive, let Molly free you; teach you to read.

Let's start with every man's primal: woman's skin.

Amber oil, reminiscences of cocoa butter, honeyed sweat.

Pick any book, it doesn't matter.

Let your tongue touch the page, lick every letter.

I'm no madame,

but Molly's hungry for a great read.

And if "How are you tonight, ma'am?" can fold legs

like he's folding shirts, we'll be reading Dostoevsky by morning.