these (blue) movies of you

if you had a web site
a special one
all of it
and i could go on there
oh, god…

(i’d Google you all the time)

if you were a porno
i’d have dinner
while i watched
maybe just the opening segments
when your clothes were still on
when the scenes were banal (moreso than later
when the inevitable screwing and stuff fills the screen)

if you made dirty movies
or photographs
i’d pretend i was the guy
(or girl, or she-male, whatever you’re into)
who gets to touch you
even if it’s only cinematic
and someone, continuously, “cut!”

but more than all this possession
it would at least
be a way to be with you
to see you move
filled with life
flushed pink
smiling even if only make-pretend

if you were pornography
i would need help
my friends knocking
they haven’t seen me in weeks
i’m on the floor
thin, frail
coated in a combination
of cum and loneliness
(that stuff they make Republicans out of)

and they’d put me in a home
where i wasn’t allowed your image
and i’d lay there gathering strength
but a despairing sort of will
you’d never fade away
torment erecting
and the fever dreams
you as my nurse
my therapist (the…rapist)

kinda like where i’m at these days.


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