Loading icon

Romance Porn

Poetry & Prose | December 6, 2009

Got naked and stepped out of line,

to nurture this business model

I have in mind.

There must be rain, wetness,

and no make-up allowed.

There’ll be sleeping on the rooftops

of other people’s buildings,

and it goes without saying,

there will be no douchebags

fucking like in internet porn,

lathering shame all over your

glorious mammalian name.

No “-tube’s” and “-hub’s” and “xxx’s,”

and no skinemax, either, because behind

all those faking sighs and listless eyes lies

emotion that’s hollow throughout,

the love of cardboard cutouts.

It’ll be slow, very slow, and starts with

the kind of conversation that fills more than

the space between now and sex.

Bring on dirty talk (violence too),

but lame-ass misogyny

the attorney of Love rejects.

Each must undress the other,

but slow dancing in underwear will

be optional.

And do away with the heavy music,

heavy breathing will suffice.

Bring everything that you can lose,

the waves will remove all that isn’t smooth.

It’s a transfer of energy,

and a fundamental law.

There will be no work of any kind

aside from that essential to survival.

Nothing more needed to acquire

but key ingredients more common than water.

Recall your most private of unrequited dreams,

those thoughts that echo in the rafters

while you’re laughing and making poetry…

Those that curl their little fingers

over your wall of polite decency…

The thoughts that you,

in your freest of free-thinking,

are still ashamed of,

the ones that make you worry

about potential mind-readers…

They, too, can happen.

But romance porn has nothing to

say about why evil teems,

or some life that’s supreme,

so it will probably just remain

a silly little business scheme