The Fables

In school, we read a ridiculous story by Aesop,

one not involving wise or foolish animals or insects, but one in which a god allocates emotions

to the parts of the body. Intellect to the mind, Love

to the heart, etc. etc., until only the asshole is left,

to which the god assigns Shame. Understandably, Shame is unhappy

with the accommodations, but it’s too late. Shame

curses, “If Eros should ever seek to occupy that place,

I will leave the body for good.” This is why

homosexuals have no shame, according to Aesop,

or one of his Victorian translators. According to me, this is why

there is no moral order

to my sexual imagination, and why, praising my looks and hair

and white flesh as I lie with you, then falling

silent for days at a time, you really are the master of my pain.