Probing

by Samuel De Lemos

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I stepped outside
pulled down my
pants and pissed
on the frozen
ground.

The steam rose
from the soil,
it was shivery
cold.

When I was finished,
I walked over
to a roll of foam.
It lay exposed
to the elements,
covered by a ripped
plastic bag.

With my naked hand
I touched the inner folds.
The pressure of my
gentle touch as
I parted the foam,
made a crackling
sound.

The white frost
on the material I
was fingering,
parted and cracked
with the slightest
pressure, right
before my eyes.

I was transfixed
by the color of my
flesh against the
frozen white foam.
Inanimate it lay,
until my warm
fingers probed.