ReConfigured: Science Fiction, 1

Sometimes, I imagine myself

an alien from outer space,

a visitor sent to offer homage

at the unshod feet of Lady Curvaceous

(who is not even deterred by my born

ugliness and unattrative appearance),


And I imagine the scene:

multiple arms, with which to embrace her

and as many hands devoted

to the caress of her soft fulsome curves,

and to glide down her sheer stockings

(if she has chosen to wear them during love);

multiple eyes, which which to appreciate

her perfected shape in all dimensions,

especially when I see in her eyes

new stars emerging from irridescent nebulae

as she deigns to receive the pleasure---

which haters would deny her, and---

that she allows only me to offer her;

and multiple ears to record her signs and giggles,

and the deep moans when she reaches her peak,

and presses me to herself.

And I imagine a thousand lips

with which to kiss her and sing her praises;

and a thousand poems that bear witness to the

perfected beauty of her shape,

and her soul that directs and vivifies it.


But then she says, "No need for all that;

"your human limbs are enough for me,

"and all the enjoyments you have described

"are yours to have and hold from me."


And then in her presence, I can

sense the throb and thrum of the cosmos,

moving along and among her curves,

and experiencing itself, with delight, through her.



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