Imagine my surprise
when my day of baking
birthed pin-up art
from dough on the rise
Novice scalpel skills to blame, no doubt.
My incisions in would-be dinner rolls
puff into a Lilith Fair field of Bare Naked Ladies
labia minora, majora,
minor chord, oh my gourd.
I lean in, inspect my graphic goodies:
shorts hairs of dough line the lips,
sesame seeds play as goose flesh
and that tawny soft inner,
well that's thanks to teff.
Cheeks rosy with shock,
I stare at my assembly of womanly bits,
and I already know:
F--- it,
I'll still butter these biscuits.
