Full Fat

Making morning coffee
Alone and drowsy in the kitchen
I lift the milk to pour,
Hold the carton at just the right angle
To wait the expression of
Night's cold refrigeration
To tip past my finger edges and
Out in a rush of wholesome
Creaminess,
All the while thinking
Of the long stretch nipple
That might feel like rubbery sponge
Pumping inside a farm palm.