Flesh, pink.
Not bubblegum, but
Winter White

frosting.
Two drops red, accidental
baby shower.

Fat, pink
toes.
Fascia of the feet.

First to
wiggle.
Voluntary.

Free.
Look! Baby is
kicking,

flexing.
Dumb,
happy baby.

Foot to
sky,
foot to mouth.

Fingers
navigate
metatarsals.

Find crystals
buried
in the ball.

Flush, pink
to white
and back,

fun with
bodily
autonomy

fostered for
months
in the womb.

Fascinating,
really.
How the

fine lines of the
hand
cannot

forge
a path for the
foot, but will

foretell
in tally marks
how many dumb

fucking
babies
you’ll have, ones that

fought
to be
born.

Fools.
I’m one of them.
But I swear, I’m happy,

baby.