Me ni irettemo itakunai
It won't hurt even if you put it into my eye
The Japanese say
Of a beloved thing
Like a beautiful child
Some say gay sex is gross
Or must be painful
They can't've had much sex themselves
Japanese food is like kinky sex
Pink, moist, throbbing, writhing, raw, wriggling
Smelly, stinky, slimy, gooey, gluey, mucusy
Sauces, salty, sour, slurping, sucking sounds
Impossibly long, large white radishes
A challenge or a threat?
You're not putting that into my mouth!
Well, maybe. We'll see.
Irettemo itakunai kashira
Maybe it won't hurt even if you do
Group participation, don't be shy
Cook it yourself at your table
Sliced meat and vegetables
All arranged neatly in their street clothes
All buttoned down in their office clothes
Waiting on the plate
Waiting to be stripped of their aloofness
Waiting to be ravished and debauched
Waiting for the melée
Waiting for my chopsticks
To be roughly grabbed, plucked, boiled, fried
Rolled in sauce and raw egg and then
Popped, still steaming, still protesting
Into my waiting mouth
To be eagerly gobbled
The anticipation beads on them like sweat
My waribashi
Her straight, pale legs still closed, side by side
Joined together at the crotch
Like a proper, demure young maiden
Soon I shall rip them apart
Or bite one and pull the other
Like a rascally fu-ryô scoundrel
Release the beast
Chopstick legs scissor and twist
With bewitching alien grace
In concert with hand and mouth
Are they really doing what I think they're doing?
The messy, noisy dance repeats
Yet somehow building
Toward a climax, like fireworks
That you miss while turning the other way
The other side of satiety
The happiness of not needing any more
But knowing there will be more later
The once gross things do not become gross again
Sometimes we must overcome our fears
Try it, you might like it
You'll never know until you try
It might be scary at first but maybe you'll find
Me ni irettemo itakunai
It won't hurt even if I put it into your eye
(4/15)
April is National Poetry Writing Month
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