a fat girl thing
by Shi
hanging over
a hunk of ham, of flesh
a slice of the delicatessen
in my fever dreams
slices, and chunks
ripples of sinfully sweet
saccharine and corn
dripping and my senses
climax
unbearably
I but pinch my sides
bruised by the too-tight denims
that cut between the cheeks of my
meandering butt
it always hurts like hell
again, and again
as I look at the emaciated
hoochie mamas
with their belly-tanks,
their platform shoes that do not crack
from the burden,
the silver crosses caressing their firm breasts
my hands find the hardening tips
hanging over a draping middle
to squeeze, and squeeze
*******