The Equestrian

We are all sexual creatures,

we dress up in our dowdy

exterior paints, some flat primer

and our simple stitched cloth

and dance around the reality.

We anchor ourselves to deep ocean

currents, a green sea of

belief and understood truth.

Sometimes it’s received truth

sent to us from barmen and priests,

often times they’re the same type of confessor,

and the guilt that washes over the majority

smells like memories of perfume or cologne,

a small tangy taste of skin and curlicues of

hair plucked from open mouths.

The weight of it all is written off as sin or

transgression; panacea for the soul is kneeling

supplication, followed by suction in the same

position later in the week.

Sexual creation dances crazy evolutionary

foxtrots to an offbeat, and nature gives us the

heat and need to fuck, culture gives us the shame.

In two eyes seeing though, whatever be their color

or what gender they belong,

can and do long for it.

Despite what loud or little voices say:

lust will always find a way.