05/12/2011 02:58 pm ET | Updated Jul 12, 2011

Poetry: The Shore


Image courtesy of Sunny Shokrae

The Shore

Here, look at their bodies. Even clothed,
their skin is near to the surface, JWoww's
powerful breasts, Mike's self-exposed
abs. Every part is eventually eased out

for us to see by heat, the beach, shots
ten to a tray, bright blue, for free.
New and nameless lovers. Curls, squats,
the treadmill. Gym, tanning, the laundry:

each day, they control how they are seen.
We love them for it, hair extensions
and fake nails whipping across the screen.
Their dedication to pleasure stuns

us, and how easily they announce
their needs. I've gotta get it in tonight,
they say, and go to Karma, flounce
across the dance floor, pull a human tight

against them, and breathe into their neck,
Wanna see the house? We do, we look
on as they destroy the place, they wreck
it. After, we're surprised how long it took.