the only place left to shave is inside your ears
you are almost perfectly smooth: the way you lie
the way you lift your rump like a powdery teacake

you are a gelid centerpiece at your best friend’s wedding
you are an iceprincess of a man, frozen in time
everything you do, you do in time: you arrive in time
you depart in time, but you never save yourself in time
that’s the one thing you can’t do: save yourself

and so you shave yourself instead: back of the neck
chest, nipples, balls. the strop struck with the blade
cries the same desperate tone that the soapmug employs
it’s a whisking sound, it’s a gooey sound
you serve yourself like a creamy dessert
smooth, remarkably smooth, somebody should cut you
again, dust you and serve you to the bride’s stupid sister
stupid enough to believe you as sugar, counterfeit groom