"i love pillow lips"
said my best girl over breakfast
"so do i"
said i
some men have lips like holiday ham
some men have thighs that should come with a side of fries
that's some pig! the farmer said
(i read that in Charlotte's Web)
even carnivores get lonely sometimes
i want to tell Lou Reed
i do know how it feels
"to feel like a wolf and foxy"
i do know how it feels
"to always make love by proxy"
walk like a New Yorker in the heat of the valley
San Fernando mocks me with its mirage of phallic fallacy
the California natives are smothered by invaders
i seek to stake my claim amongst those colorful paraders
despite the best efforts of all you pillow-lipped men
there is so much to worry about
in my psychedelic bubble i am Jennifer Connelly
the world falls down periodically around me
i can't function when i'm not being loved
or at least sucking on some wet boy-shaped placebo
my hair spreads wetly over the pillow
lips that visit mine in that ephemeral gazebo
i am a misandrist but i'm obsessed with men
i guess i have that madonna/whore thing for them
but so what so
did pablo picasso
and nobody ever bothered him
this is not a concession of obsession
but i am dragging my train of thought on a chain in the direction
most opposite of you
i'm angry for my mother
and how the catholic church has done her
a memory like strange graffiti on a worn mahogany pew
i review the secret footage of your pantomime performance
what an insignificant story
what an unforgettable story
your friend brought you a shot of something you must not have wanted
suckable fingers curling around an invisible glass
body made of bacon
bacon cooking
making drippings
you pursed your lips together and pretended to spit it on the floor
the crease in your brow suggested it was sour
i wanted to kneel down right there in the 101 Cafe
wrap my arms around your solid 25 year old waist
feel your midwestern fingers on the sides of my face
squeezing my mouth open like a cardboard container
in which to empty the contents of yours
