Ode to Pubes

lover. there was a rug made

for my house of holes. after you’ve felt

all warmth, you take home

in shaven sanctuary. and i

prick and ponder

over my rugless house. is love

building my home from scratch?

between my thick sky,

you hunt.

pluck your findings before you feast

and return home.

you find warmth and think

me home. for you

it’s dry air to breathe. after

i remove my rugs.

because you’ve kept yours. only

for me to be bare

and cold and growing.