the Problem With a Good Erotica

Some really amazing erotica
is written by women for women...

Aren't we a thirsty lot?

But, I'll admit the best of the best
is erotica written for lonely women.

And holy shit I'm lonely,
but with the best erotica in my hands
comes with the price of longing,
the feeling of being more lonely
long after I set the book down

Where is my fairy lover,
my handsome rogue?
Where is the heat
of a passionate back alley kiss
in the middle of a summer's night
or the twisted words of a sadistic master
stealing me away on my wedding night?

Where's my bruises and my rope burns?
My shackles and my blindfolds?

Gods.... tell me where-
and speaking of gods...

Why can't I fuck a god?
or rather, a god fuck me
I'll happily take my ass upstairs
to play games with the deities
to which we still pray
because fuck...

I crave.

In the end
reading a good erotica
just hurts.