Poor is the man

Whose pleasures depend

On the permission of another.

–Madonna, “Justify My Love”

Let’s not let a kiss be a crime;

I want what I know and I know

Regret’s got to be justified.

I’ll be your Joe Blow, your John Doe;

And when your earned light’s gone burnt lime,

Oh, I’ll be your electric glow.

Swallow like a gilded flicker

Your shiny pride, your intense stride;

And drink of my pussy liquor.

Floodtide, I’ll wash you from inside;

Tell your mama and the vicar,

“He’s wrist-deep inside the great divide.”