Cold Water Women (version 2)

“I need a drink
of ¬†cold water,”
I mumble upon waking up.

Daddy shows me how
a scrunched up
straw wrapper becomes
a worm on the table at Cracker Barrel, and
the fledgling
worm expands in the puddle.
Little Katie laughs.

In the shower with
my “male companion.”
He says
women blossom under
cold water.
Hard nipples and the like.
Katherine shivers.

Alone, and
the only cold water in the house
finds my clit.
Apple cores are never as pale
as I imagined.
Orgasmic raspberries
bluesy berries, bruised
from so-called lovers’ hands.

If I’m going to swallow
this pill,
I’ll need a drink of cold water.

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