Hungry

You lick her clean like a spoon full of Miracle Whip,
Not Cool Whip, too sweet -- you need the tang,
Smacking lips and luncheon meat memories,
Crisp and clean and green under your mattress;
She never pays you quite enough, and yet --
You lick her clean like a spoon full of trusted
Exposition in the middle of the night, when the
Fridge light's out and bread is gone to places
Where you'd probably rather be.

And you wash her down by yourself with a stiff centerfold
And wonder why she always leaves you hungry.