*****
Just a word like any other,
you spew it into the dark air
and hope that it will stick.
After all, shouldn't we all
be marrying our high school sweethearts
and ******* in the dark
to settle into bone numbing
missionary pleasure,
just like the good book says?
And if you're not married,
shouldn't you be knitting
or biding your time
silently *******
in an empty house,
willing God to shut the **** up
as you ******?
I'd rather be *******
in the moonlight,
in dimly lit offices,
on cliche sunset strewn beaches;
dancing naked in rivers
and sprawling over
sun-streaked sheets
ripe with leftover love.
Radiant heat seeps
from my wide eyes
to my long fingers
to my small *******
to the arch of my spine
to my uneven toes,
and, my god, isn't this
what it feels like
to be alive?
You can take your Sunday best
and your mewling children,
your whitewashed walls
and your plastic sofas.
I'd rather
be wholly, phenomenally
woman- shedding eons
of contempt,
laughing like Caligula
over the power that something
as simple as this body
that I carry around
can wield.