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.