Thigh With honesty of homemade butter, paddle-churned cream (eshta in Arabic, ecstasy foaming to the brim), a woman river-bathes, sheet of oil-black hair breaking in rapids, cut lemon scintillating olive skin free of tree-stumped chador, skirts within skirts, peal of her bell-body rung muffled in Iran heat-a splash of white. The rhythm of pumice scraping her feet, sandbar against warm current, frothy cape a bee-bubbled hive, honeyed trace curling to her bare knees, thick transparent lather. At a Tehran bazaar endless gold-stores could never return me anywhere pure.
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