You come out of the master bedroom closet
in the daintiest of nighties
I do all the talking as we
lay down on the bed
I whisper sweet nothingness
into your unhearing ears
I fill you with my love and
you make squeaking sounds
I would offer you a post-consummatory cigarette
but I fear you might melt
I rinse you out
I deflate you
I stick you back in the closet...
next to the air pump
Jeffrey Philip Clegg
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rubber-soul/
