sapiosexual

word count: 86

If self-education is a way of life for you,
if your curiosity is part of your worldview,
if, at your full height, you still remember how to grow
& you have no problem with admitting “I don’t know,”
then there’s some potential for arousal between us!
Superficial beauty is a plus, but not a must.
I’m sapiosexual—it’s out of my control.
So, if my affectionate devotion is your goal,
turn me on by turning on my creativity;
then, my love for you will last into eternity.

I love it when your mind opens

word count: 66

I love it when your mind opens my mind
under the guise of simple dialogue!
Truths I deemed impossible to find
arise effortlessly; you lift the fog
& all that’s left is your naked brilliance.

I also admire your resilience
to false witness, propaganda & brain-
washing—how many men in history
have thought for themselves & yet remained sane?
You’re one of them because you’re stronger than pain.

Why I Am Not Monogamous

Our world is blatantly obsessed with sex!
Here are some ways in which this manifests:
Celibate priests are raping little boys.
People use whips and chains as bedroom toys.
Men in dark basements can’t get off RedTube.
Men in high places touch their interns’ boobs.
Standards of unattainable beauty
torment the fairer sex (including me).
People resign to promiscuity.

Wait… promiscuity? You’re right to ask.
Given the headline I picked as my task,
shouldn’t I argue FOR sleeping around?
No. That would drive our race into the ground,
if not with some raw, rampant STD
then through the death of vital loyalty.

Instead, I go for polyamory
(that is: having two lovers, maybe three),
but not to compromise intimacy:
I love my lovers better when they’re free.
Once and forever, Shakespeare says it best:
life’s short, love’s true, and silence is the rest.

In my own life, it’s logical
and somewhat biological—
since I like kissing shafts and curves,
monogamy gets on my nerves.
Buuut I don’t want a one-off thing.
Each love’s a romance, not a fling.

In my mind, the best kind of sex
is when both skins and souls connect,
and when I feel the need to take
that hostage, my own love is fake.

One final thing I think is true
(I might be wrong about this, too)
I think the purpose of taboo
is kind of as a last resort:
When people cut their love lives short
and isolation walls them off,
like a collective urge to cough,
taboos are broken, and people open
up to the nakedest of things—
love, which is why the caged bird sings.

***

word count: 294

where you draw the line

word count: 65

how soon does a womb fill with child?
depends where you draw the line.

how high up the ladder should you climb?
depends where you draw the line.

what’s work & what’s play on the sabbath day?
depends where you draw the line.

how much shit will you take before you die?
depends where you draw the line.

how truly can you love & yet still lie?

like father, like son

word count: 74

like father, like son, it’s your destiny
to see honor eroded by rough spite
& insight blunted by blind scrutiny
& kindness surrendered without a fight
& innocence deformed by violent hate
& beauty overwhelmed by spectacle
& conscience crying out against its fate
& Mary ridiculed by Jezebel
& straightforward direction made obscure
& fear seizing sensuality
& power-hunger crippling strength, & pure
& simple truth labeled stupidity:
like father, like son, you endure all these
& so do i, by knowing you love me.

(a study of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 66)

Rapunzel and the Mime

word count: 246

there was a solitary mime
who built a tall, tall tower.
he chiseled it 1 block at a time,
polishing for hours.

if you chanced to wander by
as he worked (so intimately)
you couldn’t help but wonder why
his busy hands looked empty,
shaping thin air with a craftsman’s care.

one day a solitary girl (Rapunzel, she was called)
saw what he saw: walls of smooth pearl
rising, completely solid
to the carefree, pale blue sky;
she walked up to where he squatted
planting flowers around the base
& she touched him on the shoulder
& he turned to see her face
& he saw the recognition
in her kind, dark, caring eyes
& knew with full conviction
he had met a kindred mime.

so they moved into his tower
& dwelled happily alone
& sought no wealth or power
that wasn’t in their home.

as years passed by, they passed the time
by miming anything they liked;
like sometimes, the male mime would climb
Rapunzel’s hair (grown by their minds)
from ground to window in the sky
& heave himself in, smiling.
their bliss was blinding.

what was it that severed their bond?

one day, Rapunzel sought revenge,
let down her long, strong hair,
& right before her window’s ledge,
she cut him off, midair.

when his brains splattered in the mud,
his work bled out just like his blood;
gone was the roof that stopped the rain,
gone were the tower walls;
all these were figments of his brain.
screaming, Rapunzel falls—

Polyamorous sonnet

word count: 99

my love of Shakespeare multiplies when shared
& is enriched when others love him differently—
since that’s true, why would i be at all scared
to share (& watch you share) your brilliancy?
taboo is an impartial arbiter
trying to justly serve society,
& those its verdict isolates are bitter
when they feel shunned for their identity;
i’ve felt this, some, with polyamory,
against which the whole planet’s been progressing—
am i not good enough for your “true” love?
no. love, you are too dear for my possessing,
& to your ownership i lay no claim;
you & Shakespeare i love almost the same 🙂

i’m not a necrophiliac

word count: 94

i’m not a necrophiliac, but nearly—
i’m turned on not by corpses & cadavers
but dead minds whose ideas still survive,
whose old insights still penetrate clearly
& light the way my living self now travels,
directing me where to go, what to strive
for, how to push forward through tragedy—
their force flows through me like gravity,
the men who forged paths through calamity
& broke divisions down, empowered
by rare, uncompromising honesty
& raw intelligence—the best of the best.
trust me; genius is what thrusts me into heat,
& yours (embodied!!) makes me soak our sheets.

Sun worship

word count: 108

in antiquity, the sun was said to be
a god (shaped like a man) who ran all day,
cooled his burning feet in the western sea
& came home with his rays docile & dim
to his beloved, waiting there for him.

he’d give her anything in his peerless power,
which is what turned their romance sour
when she made a simple, devastating wish:
“stand before me, Sun, in your true form.”

in horror, he begged, “anything but this—
i’m too strong, even at the break of dawn!”
but she wouldn’t hear it—so, he turned on.

what she saw must have been magnificent;
she was immolated in an instant.