Another Sex Dream
daniel zomparelli
From Davie Street Translations, © 2012 Daniel Zomparelli, published by Talonbooks, Vancouver, in 2012. Zomparelli is editor-in-chief of Poetry Is Dead magazine. He is also the program coordinator for Megaphone magazine Community Creative Writing Program. Davie Street Translations is his first book of poetry.
from the street, each deserving manwould approach for a taste of thistransformation, so by dawn, I’d be rawand then, by evening, ready and healed.
—Michael V. Smith, “Salvation”
I keep having sex dreams
of all men. Men of age, colour, time,
travel and work. My sixty-seven-year-
old boss, my thirty-two-year-old boss,
my Muslim co-worker, my
friends, men I don’t even know
and a few women with manly haircuts
for good measure and I
pull them
from the street, each deserving man
could feel the warmth and they
cry tears. Cry love, cry semen, cry
goodbyes and not-this-times. They have never
been so pleased. I am a machine
of pleasure, a Fleshlight of hope. Like
a Madonna video, but with fewer feathers.
Like an endless tequila bottle, enough
to go around. I would
be Lil’ Kim, so that everyone
would approach for a taste of this
and l-l-l-l-l-lick me from my head
to my toes. They would lie back
satiated, and even though
I find them
in their self-loathing, I go back for more.
I go back, even though my heart is a brick
even though they don’t love me
even though this is not for me.
I go until there is a
transformation, so by dawn, I’d be raw
and be tired in my right arm. I used to wonder
why the hell I have sex
dreams against my will, but I traced it
back to Catholic guilt. Like Miss USA, I hope
for world peace, and I can
do that with my mouth. That
the broken men could cry to release
so that I take their pain
and the world can hurt in the morning
and then, by evening, ready and healed.