A Word on Sex

Sex is undeniable, beautiful, terrifying, lying.
Sex should be true, too:
It should surprise you – reveal you to yourself —
it should brighten your heart
and tiptoe your darkness into bed
take away shame or hesitance,
pull you into an undertow of dormant courage.

Sex is a river of tension,
flooding – eventually –
despite self-fulfilling pretenses
that became hard to admit
until the final drunken kiss
and cumming
frightens all those secrets
you’ve been seeing in your dreams —
that frantic purge into unsaid need.

Sex is meant for this,
for poetry and foggy memories,
for yearning and suspension.
Oh, I want you so bad,
my body knows you want me too.
I could cum from just the possibility of you —
Could cry for the rightness you gave.
Your sex waits; me, always a slave.


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