Joie de vivre

thick syllables
edged by my floppy ears
they were the hundred stirs
among a mélange

of pink mouths shaped
like saucers and
roving hands flying up
from my low-bottom body

a wide gust split
across the fettle meaningless
largesse
coaxing a yelping
out my whiskered brown lips
dulcet and numbing

I ran under
a warm sluice spilling off
the garden hose
my fur commingled in
crusted sunshine
and plumed dandelions
who stripped me all the way
down to joie de vivre