Morning on the frog towel

Adrienne in Austin
long limbed dark eyed
convinces me to bicycle
the covers off my core
while a pigeon skates
the sill's ice marinade
a chick one shrilly fussing
maybe of the drafts
they dilute what's rising
from these oven planks
against the floor
which I press away
with
yes Adrienne
all ten knuckles
and notice how
my wrist
just misses kissing
a pale little croaky
of the terry green