Vanilla

There is something
comforting about cotton. It has
the neat pod oil potency
to remind you, while wrists
are tied together in ballet wrap,
legs daintily mummified
in a soft white mermaid tail,
and breasts buoyed by fabric underpinning,
of tiny Lefkas tee shirts, creased cartoon sunhats,
dressings after tree climbing,
reels you would unravel like a cat.