Fridge Magnet

That fridge contains nothing of interest for you.
The cream is cheese the cheese is green,
there is nothing but mush in the salad trays.
You are delaying the enevitable coupling of our bodies
by examining its rotten contents.
Right now I hate you.
I hate you for thinking glass of milk
when just before now I had you
flat on your back
with your nipples,
like two frozen peas,
placed so expertly
on top of everything, everything, everything else.
Close, please, that refrigerator door.
Yes of course it's yours-
I take a breath you make it a pause.
Perhaps, sometime, after all this madness
with ours hands and tongues
In which seconds have become hours
in which your milk has gone sour,
this fridge my sweet, my love, my new found thawed out land,
will be ours.