Down-home Country

I was
Making some cornbread,
In a cast-iron skillet,
That’s been rinsed out
A hundred times,
But never really cleaned,
I mix cornmeal
And butter, and think
About our dinner date,
Your simple cotton
Dress, how it flows in the
Evening breeze,
I hope you’ll wear it tonight,
And we’re all out of
Buttermilk, but I only
Need a spoonful,
So I set my mind to
Thinking, you in
That dress, and before
Long, my pumping
Has produced something
Fruitful, a handful of cream
To make cornbread,
For you

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