He sits there , porcelain white skin, eyes calm.
He sits up and walks toward me
I see that his skin is milk, his clothes
made of a liquid substance as well.
He stops three feet in front of me and speaks five words
“You are the Milk Man.”
He holds my hand, but all I feel is
my hand dipped into rich milk,
now my arm
shoulder
chest.
I look to the Milk Man for help
but he has vanished. I look at my hand, it is porcelain white.
I am the Milk Man.