In the bedroom, I’m a Fascist
dictating passion, penning stanzas
which put an end to marriages.
Surpassing all of its sweating
lanes, mirages of men end up in
my deep water, bending essence
into the sublime wilderness
summonsed by each eye peering into
my blue bayou’s uninterest;
calling to appear one soul who
gives into its immunity chest
tribute made to save his blindness
from dawn’s light razing us to day.
On the way to finer pastures, flaws
slaughter slaves, freeing lust of chains.