Amor fati, it starts like this: She bop

a loo bop a whop bam boom. Not Tutti

Frutti, but buggery none the less. Flop

sweat. The first inkling of pain. Booty

deep and spread wide. No, you say. O hell no.

But to love what Fate brings requires you to

explore. From the bar through the slush and snow

to bed. Batty fang. Caterwauling. Screw

shunter. Slang … as I pause before the O

of your ass. Hell no. Then, by turns, Rome burns

between your cheeks. Tonight we will transgress.

Call me daddy, stranger, your queerest beau;

bent, we say. Soon wild rapture will return.

Soon you’ll claw my flesh, shuddering: fuck, yes.