Run two fingers over the surface of your nipple
as instructed by the pamphlet: a smooth,
circular motion, how you make a jar sing.
—The squirrels
that burrowed
in your bedroom walls
to scratch a home out—Buds
relentless inside a body
—The man-made pond
you used to skim for fish,
a vibrant green and pedestrian bridge.
Progress from the areola toward the perimeter,
your fingers, as if their own small moon,
make tiny laps the size of quarters.
—A rush of rainbow scales
like streaks of blush
—A hundred down-turned faces
of trout
—Your little dimpled
self in the tension of a line