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All my sisters are feminists; all my
mothers gods. But, like in Recovery,

there are three passions that I still deny
I do: 1) Of the tricksters, that foxy

blue-fox acid drove all my low gnostic
thoughts. 2) Once cum was our libation;

now it’s sacrifice. 3) I was shaman
for you, infidel. Back when seraphic

truths felt down and dirty, I thought constant
carnal acts could free us, since chastity

was a curse. I was wrong both times, clearly.
Odd. These days there’s no talk of cock or cunt,

and though I have the blood of witch and nerd,
somehow, “lechery,” is just one more word.