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pornography of poetry

in that ole Book
there was
wrote a tale
of a king, long ago;
who in Midnight’s
vulgar splendor
made sweet love
to his young betrothed

such a fuss and
from those
tender words arose
a bedlam of chaste
indignation from
the masquerading marauders.

all princes and paupers
then squandered the soperose*
scenes he’d drawn in
swift dream-wisp strokes
from his bed to his
delicately damp pen.

and in whorish prose
penned a rift in
the perfect pornography
of poetry.

a murky fountain
from which we draw
a different drink.

my friend, my lover
i see you undress through the
glass; when you
don’t believe
that i’m
looking.

*soperose, a hypnotic substance or state

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