ode, passion Pumice

ode, passion. // Ella Filardi lint rollers, oh! how I lust after you; the smooth roller against my skin; pick me apart! pick me apart! take all my fluff, dust, depression and dirt, never am I cleaner than when your white skin has rubbed me up and down and up, rolling along like those paper girls my mom used to run with, throwing papers on porches: white-gray rolls and red rubber bands. at a distance, a newspaper is just as good as any lint roller, but I prefer to stand up close to feel your body work; your stick and slip, your sweet caress, your handle snuggled in my palm. my legs are limbs for you to traverse, find every place to be found! roll between my fingers and over my nose, my eyebrows, my lips, my hips... oh, I lose control! I run freely through the streets,

I cannot slow down, I show my body, I let it free, let the shame settle on me, let the dust settle on me,

I am a spectacular spectacle in the streets! but oh, how dirty have I become? how thin, how gray is my shame? I am covered with it. I am naked and ugly with it. now I can go home and clean up.