Whip

I am the Venus of Willendorf

At the whim of my familiar,

My self-care directed, not delayed

by the perfect symmetry of his haunches

aligned in front of mine

By the way he lays across my arms as I lay writing,

Completing a circuit with his purr —

His whipping tail would stick and leave fur

In the body whip I have yet to put on

So I, we, lay,

Statue-like [but for his tail],

Dry, dry, dry