My ******
When I asked you what part of me was sexiest, that's what you said.

It weirded me out at first.
I mean,
I have a nice ***.
Great ****.
Good hips.
Vaginas are icky.
They smell and leak gew and blood.
But I don’t know,
now I like it.
I love the fact that you love it.

Maybe because it's the most intimate part of my body.
No one's wanted that part of me before.
No one's touched me like you touch me,
kissed me where you kiss me.
It’s deeper with you,
and I guess that's because
you love me

When I asked you what part of me was sexiest, that's what you said.

It weirded me out at first.
I mean,
I have a nice ***.
Great ****.
Good hips.
Vaginas are icky.
They smell and leak gew and blood.
But I don’t know,
now I like it.
I love the fact that you love it.

Maybe because it's the most intimate part of my body.
No one's wanted that part of me before.
No one's touched me like you touch me,
kissed me where you kiss me.
It’s deeper with you,
and I guess that's because
you love me

When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
Falls from the night,
The tattered and shivering night,
That thinks she is gay;
When the patient silence comes back,
And retires,
And returns,
Rebuffed by a ribald song,
Wounded by vehement cries,
Fleeing again to the stars—
Ashamed of her sister the night;
Oh, then they steal home,
The blinded, the pitiful ones
With their gew-gaws still in their hands,
Reeling with odorous breath
And thick, coarse words on their tongues.
They get them to bed, somehow,
And sleep the forgiving,
Comes thru the scattering tumult
And closes their eyes.
The stars sink down ashamed
And the dawn awakes,
Like a youth who steals from a brothel,
Dizzy and sick.