Heterosexuality
Behind a prison door you hear only
Words and singing. The words and singing I
Produce within your earshot are lonely
For more than listening. They want to ply
Their way across the whole of you, your skin,
Your bones, and in your guts. I want your guts
To register the words and songs and sin
With me. I want the words to be your sluts
And give you shaming pleasure. My flame tongue
Would lick the words and melodies inside
Your ear tube, past your lips, down to a lung
And make your holes weak. Your core would be dyed.
The stain would be tattoos deep in your soul.
Your prison guard has far too much control.