To those daring ones who,
     in full view of their friends,
          put a dime into the pornograph—

                    X

Missionary vials of love
     lay against wounds miracles that
     just won’t come, gushes of swallows
     gloat, mid-flight, of having gathered
     at midnight, glimpses which, when all
     together stitched, depict an odd
     nesting of two dolls, explicit
     shackling up of two birds whose no
     use for a cock crows through the air
     waves of astonishment, since men
     so often spill seed broads will eat,

                    O

what those swallows gleaned behooved no
     beast to boast to any wingèd,
     or footèd, thing what those ladies
     had preferred be left untold, is
     the paradox of the angel
     and the centerfold, how, after
     the glow of porn well into the
     early morn’, one slumber party
     guest wanted to feel in her womb
     the warmth of love, but having none,
     used her girlfriend’s own tongue instead.