George Korolog: Two Poems

George Korolog is a San Francisco Bay Area poet and writer whose work has been widely published in journals such as Southern Indiana Review, The Los Angeles Review Word Riot, The Monarch Review, The Journal of Modern Poetry, Connotation Press, The Chaffey Review, Thin Air Magazine, Grey Sparrow Journal and many others. He has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His first book of poetry, Collapsing Outside the Box, was published by Aldrich Press in November 2012 and is available on Amazon. His second book of poems, Raw String, was published in October, 2013 by Finishing Line Press. He is working on his third book of poetry, The Little Truth.

*****

A Response to the Woman who Played with Herself (and God)

You had me from the moment
you dared to enlighten me,
with that sweet smile hanging
over the edge of your bright
pink Cosmopolitan,
your face teetering at the wrong angle,
but not the words,
which were never slanted,
nor the slightest
bit out of position.
You mentioned it almost as an aside,
in the simplest way,
said that you masturbated
in the dark
as part of your spiritual practice.
Said it in an effortless small sentence,
with a straight face,
as if you were announcing publicly that
you were a Lutheran or a Catholic and then
moving on to the feta and pear appetizer.
Your straightforwardness, wanting
to merge with God through orgasm
gave the world a legitimacy
that I would normally assign
to the certainty of natural processes
such as sunrises and sunsets.
You didn’t elaborate any further,
so I imagined you with your hands
between your legs, signing with God,
one finger at a time,
asking for forgiveness
and demanding satisfaction simultaneously.
I thought it was sweet revenge to think
that you were teasing Him
in the same way that He teased us every day,
not quite getting us there,
but promising more to come
if we only kept going. I saw it right away.
Talking with God was a slow and delicate process,
with its own lessons.
One should never trust the outcome of too much,
too fast,
even when it feels good
and we think of it as Holy.

(First Published in Prole Magazine, August 2014)

***

Height of Love

Nothing between
us but eager sky,
coaxing belladonna,
fairy trumpet,
glacier lily,
your hairy moraine
furious with fireweed,
lingering in brazen tufts.
Dare to top me,
you say,
kiss me, resting
only after you
have satisfied me.
I plant my
measured steps,
throbbing devotion
into your back,
your face dripping
winter rime,
parching August brooks,
the spring of daring,
you will take my life
if I love you less.

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