In old sex comedies, orgasmic cries

were changed into operatic high notes.

That wet ¡shlick!-roar you make between your thighs

would have caused a panic. For them, “Deep Throat,”

was a code name and, “Pink Eye,” a virus.

This is sacred: your blood shot eyes, lashes

gummy with my cum, your sweaty, “thickness,”

cleansed in the bath. Others cling to stigmas

and fears about sex. Since we’re divas who

can’t sing, we choose the real thing. No censors

or sound effects; just, “O! Cum on my face.”

The Gods adore such mettle. We, who spew

prayers in their praise, like all feral lovers,

each time the Gods bestow orgasmic grace.