by Johanna May
So many thirsty females
for big blue horned guys with tails.
I never knew,
until my latest obsession.
As many yellow stars it takes
to gush in space
equivalent to actual ones.
Their names resonate
like made up places
that somehow exists in a map,
fake and familiar.
Jealous, strapping and a weird hue,
beloined-clothed, some sort of blue.
The supernova of ovaries exploding,
such stamina and noble assurance
of an orgasm.
Real aliens out there face palming (tentacling?)
Throwing meteors at us.
Posted on 03/14/2023
Copyright © 2024 Johanna May
|Member Comments on this Poem
|Posted by Richard Vince on 12/09/23 at 02:13 PM
This is great fun. I especially enjoyed the image of aliens facetentacling when they read the equivalent of passages nominated for the Bad Sex in Fiction award.