sexuality’s miserable mantra

that callous sexuality’s mantra
enflames bodies with the knowledge of
finitude and death, the suffering
recorded within us in our stringy DNA
that has replaced fate today as depressively
positioned deity above this lovelessness, us.

the strings are white that tie us in
this incarnation, it is not sin but vicious
facticity, the viscous glue that binds me
to you, our embodiment we choose as my
tumescence in your wet, the liquidity
of protest, the sweated breast.

heterosexualism says that rape is best
but that is non-essential, fucked love our
prophecy of death, tied to the reasoned tree
of knowledge we pray to, is our potential
potency in act resting between my thighs here
slimy as life and dead as night

or life.

by David McLean