Toast and Sensuality

I'm eating
breakfast. I'm re-buttering
a piece of toast already slathered
with inchoate longings.
I'm caged by the same
unquestioned orthodoxies
that could make a woman wear party pumps on a visit someplace
with purple velour curtains and a red light
over the door. Appearances
are everything. I choose
between grape jelly and strawberry jam. I stroke them
with my butter-knife. Lascivious
breakfast foods, fit for eating
in a red bordello.

--word salad

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