You know what’s weird, Hef?
It’s a weird feeling
being a heterosexual woman
a mother, even
a sister, alas
a daughter, of course
masturbating to ancient Playboy pictorials
thinking The Women In These Pictures
Are Dead Now Or Well On Their Way.
That’s pretty fucked up, you must admit.
I prefer the soft glossy airy lies, the bullshit fantasies
to the other stuff
but your fascination
with fake platinum fuck bots
is such a yawn
such a slap in the face
of true feminine beauty
which seems to elude
your pedestrian comprehension.
But I am broke and home on the sofa
each Saturday night
while you frolic and mingle
and chortle to camera flash
and grateful fondle.
I should like to wipe the sweat from your forehead.
I should like to kneel at your slippers
feel your gnarled hands in my hair
taste the mystical air that surrounds you
before I die
because I’m scared of leaving this plane
without your benediction
because you are all the God
I can stand.

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