in an 8-minute clip from a longer 1 ½ hour porn video
it’s 9 am on wednesday and i’m late for work again. i could make a ham and cheese but instead
i’m watching an older brunette woman go down on a blonde girl while her friend watches from the right side of the frame. the first girl talks too much to really be enjoying anything. i’ve never made a sex tape, and the only time i watched myself i was distracted by my bad hair day. in real life no one looks hot when they’re having sex. when we’re together we look like two stray dogs duking it out over a piece of flank steak. you don’t really eat red meat so you pretend to fight back but then you give in and let me have the flank steak. i say thank you by sitting at your side and licking your face up and down a few times.
in my favorite scene from eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
jim carrey as joel is under a hideous floral print quilt. kate winslet asks him if she’s ugly, but she’s not as ugly as the floral print quilt. she tells him about when she was little and an ugly girl doll named clementine. jim carrey as joel climbs on top of kate winslet and tells her she’s pretty. he kisses the right side of her face. kate winslet says joely don’t ever leave me. in 2004 mark ruffalo and kirsten dunst dance on the bed in a red t-shirt and pink undies. i rewind the one-minute scene and cry every time she says joely don’t ever leave me. my spine is folded and i have a hamburger craving. i make a note in my calendar to remember to forget you — your favorite animal, the golden lion tamarin; your favorite ice cream, lemon cookie straight from the pint-sized container.
in a karaoke bar inside your heart
at rest your heart beats exactly in time with “america” by simon & garfunkel. my voice cracks at the line about the man in the gabardine suit. then again when paul sings i’m empty and aching and i don’t know why. i go off-key and fudge the lyrics and you laugh. i feel your diaphragm contract. when you need a boost i sing only inspirational songs written by powerful female vocalists. i pay the bartender to send a fresh glass of vodka cranberry directly into your small intestine.
Diana Salier is the author of LETTERS FROM ROBOTS (Night Bomb Press, 2012) and WIKIPEDIA SAYS IT WILL PASS (Deadly Chaps Press, 2011) and an editor at NAP. She is wearing striped pajamas. Say hello at www.dianasalier.com.