porno

start from selecting the proper setting:

a familiar space is best suited

for the viewers to recognize their days

and be pleased by the charming display.

then the choice of adequate characters:

that they might resemble common roles

teacher, driver, or even stepbrothers;

no practical acting skills are needed

the factor that lubricates it smoothly

is the plot that spontaneously develops

between fortuity and intentions.

the success of any good porn depends

on having no mimetic distance:

the narrative aims at blurring away

any distinctions between life and dreams.

With the camera eye, senses expand

experiences passively recorded

by the monotony of their duties,

when the magnificence of the body

was reduced to transactions for profit,

signing files and smiling at customers,

while attending recompenses to come

whose earning wouldn't overtop the waiting.

your movie will free the repressed heroes

from the limits imposed to behaviors

and led them to seek their source of beauty

through lumpful prompts of pristine heavens

calling sacred doom from mellifluous limbs.

don't be misled: it wouldn't be satisfying

increasing nudity to ease curiosity;

nor serve a broadening plea with a zoom

on the genitals: it is too vulgar,

experiences lost by the dozen!

not penetration, ridiculous sport

concerned to confuse eros with depth, but

the reluctant gesture, dangling from the bud

of emotions springing to frozen vines;

that's the porn portrait: possibilities

before mastery stains the veil of art.

take these two, both library visitors,

gender as confusing as pleases you,

one enters while the other is leaving:

notice the gaze that they exchange, how each

seeks to retrace its previous bearings,

extricate from the other's motion its,

while yet they linger in one communal

oblivion, stiffing with pain the neck

to prevent separate trajectories,

that soon blur each from the other's focus.

yet stay, capture the posture that still peers

through the mist of vanishing aurora

to recover for future memories

the essence of consumed experience,

not less vivid for the absent flare

but more so as nothing circumscribes

imagination from defying the dawn.

the movie is now rolling its climax:

the blood can't hold any longer the flow

that bursts to drain the touch the body lacks

and through the curvature of foreign ports

it tempers the wind rising from its heat.

the mind has sailed to perceptions waiting:

it dips into the hidden crevices

concealed by the curls and shades of dresses

and breaths its refreshment from the texture

it holds in the travail of creating

promises of indefinite presence

through threads that merge in communal suppliant,

if joining wouldn't the tapestry destroy.

here lies the nucleus of pleasure: wonder

endlessly discovering new regions

explored by the bliss of thoughts alone, spared

from fear of deeds attaining interest.

contemplation makes desire impotent,

Which is doomed to be anyhow after

the span of its reach breeds sulfurous spoils

on visions plagued to mirror its power,

and by deferring the bursting of its fits

gives reason freedom from material growth,

beyond the requirement of conquest,

where plenty glitters on relinquishing

caprices the prettier as they multiply,

feeding on failures to measure success.

blessed be they that break no fantasy

to muddle cravings with circumstances;

but who can remain imperturbably glad

of living on sculptures of air without

hardening its limbs to be equally met?

yet pitiful people that still believe

peace is tied in resting by lover's side.

thanks to habit the tremors that follow

the vain cry of the coitus recoils in

scented metaphors that cover the spleen

of boredom reeking from defiled glee:

the heartful hive of the blooming garden,

or our dear pampered den; epitaphs where

the spirit's thirst dies with repeated thrust.

what a terrible price to pay, beyond

the internet fee, to be by faith bound

to overcome the partner's coquetry,

the jealousy issued by its naivete,

as it claims to be the core of care,

when it is the lover's insidious doubt

that permeates faces and surfaces

for praises fairer than declaiming sex,

Numbing by lust unattended worries

That creep to repine that rare impression

awaken by flesh on library steps

never renewed with anointed caresses.

the day's indifference that sweeps the night's

vows beaded in the folds of sweated sheets

between contacts in the person's phone,

lets not a note betray the calm goodbye

with the howls possessed by thundering hips,

nor distinguish from the crowd the profile

made one by two once now three by many.

it's this absence of precision, the end

of efforts under void sky, that reminds

when insecurities were purity,

the collisions of bodies a matter

best-preserved by private entertainment,

too late to comment upon as the movie

has revealed its concerns were exhausted

the moment they were saved from fading.

then close with the credits, or maybe not,

there is enough mystery already

in scrolling down the listed palimpsest

that any text will be irrelevant

before you've done playing yourself with it.