Sex, Kink, and the Erotic: Two Poems by Liza Sparks
He’s into Polyamory so he can Fuck a lot of Women
Mythic man. The fantasy. The chivalrous
knight at the round table. Now
he’s a feminist. He’s into polyamory.
Free sex. No labels. He’s past all that.
Just bodies. Isn’t it all so human?
No strings attached—he’s not Pinocchio,
he’s a real (fuck) boy.
Eve Is Her Own Motherfucking Garden
She is applying red lipstick, it is called “tempted.” She is expanding. She is pushing
up against the universe with her shoulder pads, sequins, and neon luminescence.
She wears the sharpest cone-shaped bra on the market. She is horned and horny. She is all
cleavage. She wears disco platforms and the highest high heels. She does not fall.
She learns to run in them. She goes to JEZEBELS and gets a full back tattoo—
angel wings; she pierces her nose, her tongue, her clit, and her nipples.
She spits on the ground, on God’s creation & her spit is also God’s creation.
She wears a silk slip, ironically. It is see through, so everyone can worship
the perfectly shaped peach of her ass (even God takes a peek—what a pervert)!
Delilah buzzes her hair, gives her an undercut and says,
“This’ll make you stronger, hijta. When they come for you,”
Delilah knows all the spells.
She knows that to choose is divine—she flips through the clothes at the Goodwill
and rescues a bright red jumpsuit the color of a cherry, a pomegranate, a tomato.
She chews and blows pink bubble gum. She shops online for a strap-on and a dildo.
She curls her eyelashes and applies neon orange eye shadow with the tip of her index
finger. Does it clash? So what, she doesn’t care. This is her life.
She wears the biggest gold hoops she can find.