I Stare Back

I'm not you. I don't think like you. Dress like you. Speak like you. What I am is sex. Hot, sweet. Scandalous. Heavy in the quiet dark spaces where you breathe me in then deny the taste. Yes, sex— quivering at the knees, burying my tongue down your arid throat. Feel the bruise, my teeth upon your lips, drawing blood in retreat. I will wrench from your hungry clutches every remnant of fallacy you have draped in convent purity— the sacred vows, the blessed ruse. Pretending I am gone does not make me evaporate. I stand brazen, unblessed and unapologetic. I am brutally honest, crude even, fleshed out from the core, unflinching in my gaze on those robed in white, whispering in polite society. they do not want— me.