mid-motion, thick in the heat
of your own desire,
when you ask looking down at me
why i am smiling,
with the sweat of you
sliding up my thighs
and the weight of you
pushing me open,
when you ask why i am smiling,
i feel like a legend:
who steals men's souls,
who uses men's energy,
who sells men's morality,
who strands them on islands, alone.
when you ask
close to climax, with my hair
caught in your fist
and my throat
hot against your teeth,
when you ask in a whisper
that suggests more desperate needs,
i feel like a legend:
i am calypso to your odysseus;
i am hera to your jason;
i am mary magdalene, and my story
will cling to you like blood.
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