It’s not the cock rock, the hinted blow jobs,
the bell bottoms, it’s the dishonesty.

What gets left out: Pox, Crabs, Corn on the Cob,
Bugs in a Rug, Hippie Herpes, Jenny

Warts. What gets left in: the glorious fun
sex can be. I’m all for holy fucking;

but if you have no words for abortion
or rape or STDs, then you’re selling

something. All revolutions are just lies
told by the winning side, since we’re still slut

shaming, still denying women their rights
to their bodies. Somewhere between your thighs

lies the mystery. We need new words. Smut
can be sublime but honesty excites.