Wax-Off (I Gots the Post-Wax Blues)

On being born, I was awarded
a bed of fresh flesh, designed
to be worn from my head to
the meshy webbing of my toes, designed
to be naked sometimes (the shape
providing an allowance for clothes, but ultimately designed
to be hairy so there would be no real need for those).

Adorned, so, I grew, proceeding
to grow from squishy babe to semi-calloused youth to
crepey crow, and in the interim, I weeded
every second helpful hair from where it was needed (here,
there and underwear) so others would be misleaded into thinking
my most sacred temple (hirsute, lined
and dimpled), my most precious place (legs, arms,
inner thighs, chest, face) my most holy house
was no different to the vessel of a baby
mouse.