she said she'd teach me
how to walk like there was dick
in my pants. odd,
given all she had
was a clit
(dry as her lips)
like a
shrunken pea
beneath the fingers of my dominant
hand. but
it's okay.
she was trying. she
gets to the
heart of things, she
is the heart
of things
i peer
into vaulted ventricle ceilings
and see her,
serene,
her hair tangled in
capillaries,
swatting blood from her eyes.
i swore i'd
write about something
other than sex and
ducklings.
spring makes this
hard like the dick
in my
pants.
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