Thread-thin map-rivers, hand painted blue veins
decorate the shaft of my 8 inch realistic cock
which comes with its own suction cup
inserted at the base beneath the testicles: two small kiwi
dipped in gauzed rubber.
I've prepared the hard wood floor for the fucking
with the cock suctioned in the center of the room
facing the television, surrounded by pillows for my knees.
The VCR is already playing the men in a circle:
each man with a real cock in his mouth.
I squeeze a palmful of water-based jelly, the chill
of it tenses my anus then eases as I finger it warm.
I get into position, begin with the pink mushroom cap,
firm as an eraser, wide as a golf ball, it slips in
like a baby's foot coming through the birth canal.
I know you're not entirely comfortable with this subject,
but pretend it's another description of a tedious copulation
like the one Christian America is trying to sell you.
The first four inches are the most excruciating
like ripping off the bandage, but then the glide up
into the cavity, the snake head pressing into my plum-gland,
filling me: a barbie-pink, electric eel forcing into the throat
of a swan. It's in me down to the round suction cup,
I'm bouncing slowly in the glow of the television.
If someone were to enter now, open the door and see me--
riding the invisible man sunk into the floor boards--
I would look ridiculous, pathetic, alone, absurd,
almost entirely human.