Calling All Sexy, Drunk Christians

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Calling All Sexy, Drunk Christians

And, come to think of it, sexy, drunk ANYONE

When it comes to sex, none of us ever catch a break...

There’re still pockets
of deep dishonesty
in myself and my work.

For instance,
even when I’m in
with sexy women,
even devout Christian women
in what I think
sound like
conversations and
back and forth,
I have to battle fantasies
of how we could be spending our time
lying on a warm bed, sunlight
streaming in,
her flesh,
her hair
sparks of love-light
flashing off her silver cross necklace:
nipples, sweat, lips, eyes, and simply
T.S. Elliot,
stripping away
all his
in Prufrock,
was talking the same shit:
“In the room the women
come and go
speaking of Michelangelo...”
...My ass...

...he mighta heard the words
but he was thinking of body parts,
and coming and going
in his own wet ways.


I’d hoped by the time
I reached nearly 75 years old
I’d have had
a few relationships
with women,
based on something other
then this mysterious pull
towards nakedness
and that special
kind of knowing the other
that’s only attainable
via afterglow.

Well, it turns out
not so much,
at least not yet.

And who knows,
maybe you Christians
have this part right,
maybe heaven
is nothing more and nothing less
than perpetual/eternal orgasms
absent the need
for any refractory periods
or the demands for conversation,
whether chit-chat or epic.

Jesus Trash
Image courtesy of Neelam Sundaram, Unsplash
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