The cast shadow breaks
your right breast
into halves of the moon;
the metronomic drip
of light from the lamp
rolls down your shoulder,
falling off your left
breast and into
the reservoir
of your thighs.  

Hold that pose.

Now bend –
bend lower,
arch your spine,
highlight the curvature
of bone structure
through flesh.
 

Eunuchs get more sleep than I do;
they sing better, too.
 

June–

I climb a ladder to the roof
with a box of baking powder, curious
how snow will look surrounded by summer.

July–

I try again, but with powdered sugar,
because baking powder tasted
terrible to catch on my tongue.

January–

I am back on the roof with a full can
of gasoline and a book of matches
trying to bring summer back.