deepundergroundpoetry.com
To guys who don’t read girls
I guess I’d question why
you even read at all,
if not to know people and life
much deeper than you know it now,
and feel the flavour of the fate
that’s also feminine.
It is, I suppose, an opposing pose.
Do you even read men?
Or just gaze glassily at Faulkner
and think about 10-dollar words?
(But only in a Starbucks, of course.)
And if what know about girls is just
whatever you’ve gleaned from de Sade,
and even that dead libertine reflected on
by dust in sunlight more than eyes,
I have to ask: are you even good in bed?
Or just good at teaching a girl
how to fake an orgasm?
We none of us are saints, my dear.
My shelves, I must confess,
are white as Lily’s of the field,
but just as any penitent one tries
to look beyond Lily’s bloomers.
And God believes in you, young chap,
enough to not fake ecstasy
and sell her charms to make pop songs,
pornography, and fashion shoots.
you even read at all,
if not to know people and life
much deeper than you know it now,
and feel the flavour of the fate
that’s also feminine.
It is, I suppose, an opposing pose.
Do you even read men?
Or just gaze glassily at Faulkner
and think about 10-dollar words?
(But only in a Starbucks, of course.)
And if what know about girls is just
whatever you’ve gleaned from de Sade,
and even that dead libertine reflected on
by dust in sunlight more than eyes,
I have to ask: are you even good in bed?
Or just good at teaching a girl
how to fake an orgasm?
We none of us are saints, my dear.
My shelves, I must confess,
are white as Lily’s of the field,
but just as any penitent one tries
to look beyond Lily’s bloomers.
And God believes in you, young chap,
enough to not fake ecstasy
and sell her charms to make pop songs,
pornography, and fashion shoots.
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