After class you lingered, interested if
I’d help with your homework on pro-sex
feminism? –– back home? –– over a spliff
and witch wine? Liberation is complex.
You peeled out of your dress. We fucked; ragdolls
smeared with cum. Sexual freedom is rare ––
but we have choices –– and lust that enthralls;
lust that saves radical change from nightmare.
Affair without nightmare. Broken fuck toys
healing. “No, here,” you say, guiding my cock
to your ass’ gaped O –– “Make it vulgar.”
Vulgar pleases. We make fuck-slushy noise.
We laugh. Others will call this porn and schlock.
This bliss is what others want to censure.