Member-only story
Sweet Maddening Sex and Other Wars
A Poem
I love to squeeze your bountiful flesh, dear Asha, really feel the magnitude of your sex and thoroughly enjoy it — lips on lips — skin on skin.
They say I’m a producer of confusion, but I’ve never followed the herd, and when it comes to wanting you, I never struggle with my conscience.
God forbid I break open and you see what’s inside of me, send me down the road back to my mother.
But you’d never be so crude as to deny our passion, our many dangerous liaisons.
I remember back, living in a dorm, and finding the mouth of another where yours should’ve been.
I have a thing for opera, and you’d be a great candidate for a night out — it would put us both in the mood.
You do worry, however, about the observer of our public tryst, that someone might hold a grudge against us and try to put our love out of our own minds.
There’d be an orgy of press covering our strokes, every time we chose to eat a biscuit behind some bush in which photographers hide.
I’m making a resolution from this moment forward: it’s not about reproduction, it’s about having a good time as opposed to carrying on the family name.
