My Existence Depends on Your Cooperation

I have spent the entirety of my life

Studying the feminine gothic

Researching the modest curve of the hips 

Of Victoria’s Secret models as

I walked by their posters--

Black lingerie clung onto the skin

Of a thin, honey-blonde White woman 

While she held a firm gaze 

As the tip of her nose glistened 

And her fingers curled into a “come hither” gesture

A menacing seduction that made 

New husbands and great grandfathers lower their heads

In shame of the spontaneity of their carnal hungers,

The fruits between the meats of their thighs still growing even

As herds of vinegar flies begin to invade

Their leathering gates.

My womanhood guided me like a compass,

It led me to waters unknown by

Creatures who had tread the sea 

Decades before my mother had even 

Rested in the liminal corners of her mother’s recess,

Kicking at the thin walls of her innards to give her

A taste of the most bittersweet parts of creation.

I was designed to keep my heart in line

With those who descended from Sappho’s rib

And spread the word of our creator 

Through the adrenaline rush of our infamous, sensitive desires;

To broadcast delicate, fluffy romance

As a reward from the homoerotic heathens

Who paved the way for our sensual mischief.

When I was eight and buying Valentines to hand out

To my third grade class,

The cashier laid a legend upon my ears— 

She swore to me the gasoline igniting the flame

That kept my heart and liver from freezing over

Could only be sustained eternally 

With the bodily fluid of a divine love.

And years later, my mouth still waters

As I daydream about my fantasy beverage:

The spiced ichor of Eros sliding down my tongue,

My heart marinating in the broth that seeped from

A laceration carved across the thickness of his throat

By the stealth of a razor that lined his own arrowhead.