Frailty, thy name is woman!
O, that this too too sullied Hamlet bitches in Act I
             flesh would melt, thaw, &
in Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
             resolve itself into Confession:
[Clamps left breast firmly as if
             My name isn’t Frailty, & though,
twisting a sponge sud-less or
             biologically, I’m “female,”
squeezing the rubber
             no one calls me
bulb of a baster to fill
             “woman.” I’m either an
it w/ butter, melted fat, blood, etc.]
             “Emma,” or
a [wavering] dew! Or
             a “girl,”
that the Everlasting had not
             restricted, I’m sure, by other,
[Slides her hand from breast to
             less winsome, words like
throat, smearing sweat, &,
             sweet, easy, prissy, prudish,
fix’d his canon [girding neck w/
             pushy, slutty, silly,
fingers] ’gainst self-
             adorable, intense, aloof
[Presses in—] slaughter!
             tease.