I was looking through the archives — inconveniently coded in an obscure file format — for another poem which I didn’t find.
So you get this instead.
Love is the universal language, so they say.
But lust is really our creole tongue.
Just a few old words on symmetry’s serenity
And the value of clear skin.
But lust has its vowel shifts too:
Hirsute and shaven,
Solomon’s roe-breasts and silicon intrusions,
Milk white and California tan.
Some phrases are almost fetish obscure:
Geisha necks and Minoan eyes,
And flat-chested flappers.
Lust is the trade talk of genes.
But here, in media’s nation,
We have trading blocs of grammar deviations,
Strange syntax, new slangs of desire.
Is there no Chomsky subset of universal pant?
Will the Babel of petri dish and PCR
Add to lust’s cant?