(13) (excerpt) to all the poets that I am secretly in love with

they say opinions are like orgasms

they say opinions are like orgasms

Written for Word Forward’s April 2014 Anti-Slam.
We were supposed to come up with terrible poems, but I’m not sure any more. This one was written for performance, which is a different kettle of fish altogether. Thankfully, I like seafood.

the heaving of your chest fascinates me
as you deliver another spittle-charged verse.
I wonder what you’d be like in bed.
You’d be mediocre, but I’d be worse.
I hope you don’t think wet flaccid tongues
on underarm hairs are perverse.

Lover, you put the ass in assonance.
put stanzas in your poems but don’t line-break
my heart. Use as many mixed-drink metaphors
as you need but remember I am a cocktail
whose olives need no stirring. You’ve shaken me
like a half-dried bottle of lube
produced sensations that I never knew
before. If you were a vibrator
you’d be the Hitachi Magic Wand.
If I were an asshole—you’d
be a bidet, because you blast my whole being
into producing a lot of bullshit.

If you were in a fairy tale you’d be the wolf
preying on my faltering grandmother
of a heart, but you’re neglecting the little red riding
of my clitoral hood
which is as ultra-sensitive as Singapore on race issues.
but I love it when your poetry gets political.
the fervent conviction of your speech is almost erotica.
they say opinions are like orgasms—
I voice mine at the top of my lungs—
in bed

If I were a slam poetry judge
I’d marker the whiteboard
of your skin with my tongue.
If I were a slam poetry judge
I’d still let you score.
If I were a slam poetry judge
your performance would take
far longer than three minutes.
Baby, I put the pant in iambic pentameter.

Please—
you might be a tease
but I’m telling you at least
I have no known disease
so let me give you release.
If you were a boy I’d be a catholic priest.
You might be divine but I’m the messiah
who’s going to give you a second coming
who’s going to make sure you get nailed

Lover, my confession may seem alien to you but
know that my love for you is one big
mother
ship.
this relationship is like an anal probe—
it would be far more efficient
if you disrobed.

So, when in the dark you encounter my ambush
—don’t look so wary.
remember: not all devices at my disposal
are literary.

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