Poetry / November 2009 (Issue 9)

Preface to a Pornographer's Dirty Book

by Kristine Ong Muslim

Love is foreplay waiting to happen,
and girls, girls are nothing but paper
and twigs and filthy river water
under a layer of woman's skin.
I let them smolder before me like
golden skies from forgotten afternoons.
First, I do no harm. I tell viewers their
favorite side of the story. I expose
mouths filled with the whimpering
of dead gods. I render spines curved
in half-light, mirrors repeating
what can otherwise be forgotten
in the bedrooms we only see in our minds
when our wives and our daughters are sleeping.

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