In this room where only we two are in,
you can say it is an expression of longing
or desire…or lust.
A flower is just standing there.
that doesn’t pull butterfly’s eyes
and gives itself to bee’s kissing.
The butterfly’s silence
even without the sound of flapping
is an exclamation
that burst out after aeon’s waiting?
The desire is for living a day
or for getting name-brand bag?
Is it a struggle of praying
like the calm Sea of Galilee?
I wish it were a butterfly faithful to its desire.
I hope it is not a gloomy stillness
after a battle for trying to escape the desire.
Rejecting her gesture and voice
without even letting my ego know,
hiding my gesture and voice
deep in my ego,
with boring spiritual lecture
as a background music,
seeing her over there in front
as the heroine in a movie,
I was a man swallowing a pain
In the dark movie theater
watching a movie with my lust.
It was fortunate
that I was not fallen
into her stealthy temptation
and I was not tricked by my own trap.
I almost forgot
that I was becoming a flower.
But I could try to compare
my pain of lust and desire
with the pain of Jesus on the cross.
The agony of Jesus
was not from flesh-piercing nails,
not from people’s merciless contempt,
but from the sugary temptation
of Mary Magdalene,
so even though I am dozing
on the hard chair in sanctuary,
my pain of not materializing the lust
is not less than the pain of Jesus.
Noisy birds in my backyard
have a lot to talk about,
like a girl in my arms
Birds kissing on the deck
have many things to share,
like a girl in a motel bed.
Singing bird by my window
tries to lure me into lust,
like girls on the street.
Birds flying away from my tree
have nothing to say to me,
like a girl showing her back.
a woman jogging in a park;
smell of sweat mingled with
smell of perfume bought in a dollar store.
(i don’t have a nose for perfume though)
a woman with thick make-up
who’s just given birth to a baby.
(a rumor, but it might be true)
a feminist woman waiting for a man
to open the door for her.
actresses in a TV show
who can’t be told who’s who.
(i don’t have good eyes though)
my wife sleeping by me
is the only woman with bare face?
(only if wife is a woman too)
of woman bondage that brings back
the memories of lust to men
with fake face and the make-up
as thick as pig skin
Countless afternoons in her room
Numerous nights in my office
Many times in his chair
Once in a guest room in that convent
Failed in a medium-priced hotel room
Failed in a shabby and cold motel room
Never tried in a car
Not on my bed
Was pretty close in my sofa
Thought about by the nuns’ cemetery
And a few more here and there
Plenty of rotten things in my fantasy
Try to rake out memories from deep corner
These are stinking skeletons in your deep pocket?
Well, not done yet
You confessed these petty stuff as sins?
You must see a filthy dog in your mirror
Not done enough
What he knows is only her name.
Yeah, he read her cranky email as well.
And he knows for sure she is a dame.
But what he can’t feel is her smell.
His wild fantasy kicks in furtively.
His mind already is flying over the Rockies.
His body sneaks in her bed surreptitiously.
His spirit possesses all of her goodies.
She spelled my name wrong,
but who cares as long as she is pretty?
She might be wearing a thong,
but he wouldn’t care as long as she has her titty.
Not sure why he writes this pathetic poem.
Who the hell is this womanizing bum?
I hope he is not me who’s dumb.
Wetting man’s soiled feet with her white tears
Wiping his feet with her brownish streaming long hair
Cutting out the stench of the polluted earth from those feet
Dousing the feet with passionate kiss
Papering the feet with woman’s scent
Pouring the luxury ointment on the feet
Thus making his feet king’s feet
What kind of woman can make this kind of erotic confession of love?
What kind of man can’t take this kind of sensual confession of love?
Any men let alone Messiah can’t forgive any sins of any women?
In this sizzling scene men grumble not because
She is a whore not because
She is a big sinner decorated with quite a few adulteries not because
The man is the Son of God but because
they are hungry males who is jealous of another male
who got extraordinary love which they never get
from the woman as beautiful as a Miss Universe
She is not as beautiful as even a Miss Atlanta
She has money barely enough to buy cheap perfume
She doesn’t have a courage to make a sexy confession of love in public
The look of her sparkling eyes and
her body language are
enough to trigger other males’ jealousy
I don’t envy the Son of God at all