For Gene

Here, there are no faces, and I'm fine with that.
There's no judgment and the flesh is naked and pink. And young.
There are no violins – there's no romance. This is baser-needs territory. It's depraved.
It's hunger and consumption. There are no crucifixes here. No need for shame nor guilt.
Tongues are red and rough. Casually, they'll flick snake-like down my throat
And strong arms, they'll grab me. The skin on them will be coarse and labored.
But I'll be looking at the girls. One in particular. She'll be acting the ingénue.
Auburn hair and cigarette smoke above her, but her eyes -
They'll be blue, like my kid sister's.

The idea that innocence comes here to die will penetrate me, and I'll want to leave…
But the flesh: it's naked and pink. And young.