Pound Cake

I've always found it weird
that pound cakes
have a white,
translucent glaze on top.

Livid and libido
are too close to each other
in the dictionary
of our collective consciousness.

For four years I thought
I could only be one note,
submissive,
but it's love that taught me one
is so much more
than what they're told.

I want to be sexy.
I want to serve cunt.
I want to water
all the orchids in my garden
to protect them
from the scorching sun.

Wet, moist, juicy
is the sound of my footsteps.
My boots click clack
clatter over the faces
of my volunteers,
heels syncing in pleasures
we experience together
in our own, beautiful ways.

I deflate
I recuperate
I make sense
of the pages
within my obituary:
the new age.

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