Triple Sonnet Because She’s a Little Pornish
Rita says my bangs make me look Good Girl
in the pornish way, reminding me of the slo mo
when the East Asian model lowers her glasses
in the steam room, opening her mouth—could
I feed her a Luxardo cherry or an orange slice
dipped in chocolate or an oyster shooter—baby,
swallow it whole or take the next train home.
XOXO, GG or Good Girl or Gigi and Gaston in
MGM’s last great musical or the Good Girl clutch
sashaying down Moschino’s runway, and Honey,
it’s 2021, so why are we even labeling anything
when every day should be Sexual Fluidity Day,
also known as taking the blue pill and the pink pill
and the purple pill: all the above, let’s have a time
because falling in love with you was the easy part—
becoming an attention-whore-brat was the second
part, or an ode to sexiness or how I spent my twenties
with pink drinks in queer bars with rodeo themes—
photos of older gentleman cowboys framed or how
Andrew would fixate on my fixation as we danced
into the night or how an older man who treats you
and eats you well is the biggest myth in the book,
the way the irrelevant ex-lover said our sex life
was a category of porn, to which I say: What kind
of shit are you watching because it’s not the kind
of shit I’d star in, especially if it involves you. But
every non-love story involves a costume: schoolgirl
for basic boys, leather and feathers for the guilty rich,
chartreuse slip and matching heels for the slow play,
hearts over nipples for the girl of your dreams, or
what about the qipao the boy in Singapore offered
to buy—to buy me—to get it tailored—to get my
body hugging—or as Rita said, “That’s a different
type of roleplay.” I remember the dim sum dinner
he bought me to buy me, the sushi and chirashi
meal, after parading me around malls and malls
and malls—the way he’d flinch when I hugged him,
how he was raised to find a wife, not a lover, and I’ll
never be that good Chinese girl. I’m a Chinese woman,
getting my bangs cut the pornish way, or how Ginger
Spice/Geri Halliwell called the nineties “like the sixties,”
and give me that decadence—turn the camera my way.
Ode to Role Play
Once Upon a Time in Singapore,
an architect tells me I look like a porn star
with my thick-rimmed Tom Ford glasses,
like a good girl caught in the middle of
the act, holding a dirty martini.
Once Upon a Time in Greek Mythology,
Aphrodite marries Hephaestus over Poseidon
and Ares, because he promises that she’ll
never have to work a day in her life. She kisses
him, water dripping off her perfect nude body.
Once Upon a Time on Lover’s Lane,
a romantic lead tells me he wants schoolgirl
roleplay, because that’s the sexual answer
when your girl’s a professor. Lecturing is sexy,
he says. He gets rewarded—an A+ for logic.
Once Upon a Time on Wisteria Lane, Gabrielle
Solis is almost caught with her gardener after
he leaves a gym sock under the bed. She convinces
her husband it’s the maid’s. Episodes later, Lynette’s
the one wearing the maid outfit, trying to seduce.
Once Upon a Time on the Internet,
G laughs over how I call my lovers “love interests,”
like “you’re a casting director,” she says.
I’ve got an eye for talent. I eye the talent. I want
two eyes tattooed to my nape to watch everyone.
Once Upon a Time in Toon Town, Jessica Rabbit
tells Roger she’ll bake him a carrot cake. She loves
a toon who makes her laugh—her raspy voice—
my animated crush forever. One night my own crush
wonders if anyone’s ever crushed on Roger himself.
Once Upon a Time in the Sext Chain,
I send him photos of me undressing, after
donning a red gingham apron top. I could
bend over, bake a cherry pie. We depict sexiness
as cherries, peaches, and flames over Emoji.
Once Upon a Time in Long Distance Land,
he tells me that getting tattooed feels like
getting a hard paddling. I remember stumbling into
sex shops at twenty, touching teddy bear shaped
paddles, because I can be a little sweet, too.
Once Upon a Time in a Fairy Tale, a Princess
opens her nudes by accident in the middle of
a café. A couple sits behind her. Every sexual
act advances the plot in some way. After all, it’s
much better to play and prance in your displays.