|
{indiana zeus and the temptress womb} laura lehew These days the divas are all about deadlines and the ravages of time—there’s no room for seduction the odd chase through the forest without a face full of pepper spray. The oracles told me Nothing about the Yoke of Feminism. None of them. Variations on today’s hookups? False virgins, a chorus of feelings, self-help books. Sacrifices they would have to make. After a wild night of feasting on glorious grape they do not want my big shiny thunderbolt revealed. No, they do not want unplanned offspring and Hades—;—they have options. Birth control. Abortions. Hermes, Apollo, Orion—women have relationship coaches. We have become scavengers on the interstate of copulation, showing throat to their long term success discussions. Swarm to those un-opening doors. We are mice, collectors of flowery salutations, therapy attenders who swallow our volatile masculinity bury it a corpse deep inside the wet-tar asphalt of our want. |
