not thicc but a thicket, bristly, you put your hand through me like a white glove. i am the insides of canned tomatoes or searching for something inside a belly button. you are wearing a wetsuit to a backyard blow-up pool, throwing your body against it until it deflates, unzipping the wetsuit to reveal an evening gown, the edges of the gown made of sea foam. here, sea water is used to water suburban grass & a housewife walks 5 miles to the shore to retrieve saltwater every day, she approaches the edge of the ocean with a salt-shaker, shakes the salt onto the ocean, it spills onto the sand, she throws salt over her shoulder, does not look back because she is not Lot’s wife, she is Robert’s. and you are all the containers in the world.