Here at this strip club,
where the seductive maidens of phenomena
undulate on the lap
of our inconsolable loneliness—
Right here,
in this painfully waxed
theater of affection
we paid far too much to get into:
We call out to you!
Exaggerate this groping impulse.
Engulf us
so deep in this fog of fantasies and pheromones
that the whole universe starts to slide
naked
around the brass pole
of our spine,
and our hearts finally become pathetic enough
to reach for the hotty
that straddles
both sides of our skin.
That’s it, right here,
where the perky breast of pride
moves
uncomfortably close,
here in this factory of manufactured tension,
please help us relax, drool
deep, deeper
past these prudish and filthy thoughts
that coat like sticky glitter
the tingling nipples of now.
Oh Beloved Gyrator
of all g-string personalities,
what better place than right here
in this seedy establishment
to repent
for our one and only sin:
insufficient lust?
