An Invitation

a Poem
by
Anon

Let us pretend You were no lady

but a man You were neither.
Those erroneous classifications
are meaningless to me.

You are taught to be a man,

and indeed
there is everything
to be found.

But I prefer the idea

that Your testicles are
a mistake of nature.
To set it clear:

I am not for a high-heeled transvestite

trying to outdo nature by long hair,
silicon breasts and the cheap fragrance
of travesty-shows.

First You might feel offended

by my proposal,
but clean-shaven men
are often to be found nowadays.

My praise of their smooth flesh

should hollow out Your reservation
as the shaving, once accomplished,
should alienate Your body to You.

Days and days, weeks and weeks

Your manhood is the altar of my devotion,
the focus of my praise, the guarantee
of my fancy about its annihilation,
slowly revealed, in pace
with Your deepening submission.

This notion of a sinister choice

should slip into Your puzzled brain
like the shadow of a cloud that darkens
the field with sad memories,
like glances of naughty old men
plaguing a boy's innocent face.

Something You dared not think of,

proposals You rebuff with burning cheeks,
creeps through Your veins, Your nerves,
into Your skull.

A breed of snakes,
a venom that You learn to love,
some strange desires never felt before,
men who stop chatting when You pass
their way, and someone laughs.

Did he recognize Your destination?

And with a soft and slimy voice

the snake renews its impudence,
pouring out gossips, weird details
of slave-trading, of celebrated singers,
peculiarities I am so familiar with.

Once, when we were out with friends,

a fellow took the chance to make us acquainted
with his playmate, a handsome guy
who shyly smiled about our flattery.

I think
he did not quite understand the glory
of his sacrifice,
nor was he ashamed of it.

On that occasion
my friends would ask me for my plans with You,
and everybody tried to outdo his fellows
in sculpturing vigorously the shady image
of that creature You are meant to be.

Their compliments ignored Your actual state,

transforming it into a sweet promise,
taking Your strength, Your manly attitude
just for a playful masquerade,
for flowers, pearls, embroideries,
wherein some insane treasure dwells.
My eyes are grazing
from Your blushing face
those traces of the shaping
neuter's grace.