In my dream, she is under a man that knows about satisfaction,
and indulgence. A giver and pleaser—one that doesn’t hand
over the chocolate, but rubs the morsel on your lips,
leans his limbs down to the center of her mouth
and says, Here, take. In my dream, I came from pleasure,
from men that believe the arch in her back
was medicine for aging hands, that foreplay cures
cataracts better than THC, and all good pipes burst
when tapped at the right place. In my dream, she is body-embraced
and thirsting for more. She is gushing, knows dying in ecstasy
would be a sweet death, that anticipation is the realest form
of feminism there is.