The Tangible Muse (an erotic poem)

Fuck fantasy
A limited, unending construct
Cold, unsatisfying fast food
To be thrown out, discarded
Starved by own imagination
And a tease of a muse

An occupying, distracting delusion
Unending questions, no answers
My hands now rest on a tangible muse
Made of proper flesh,
Thankfully, joyously
Alive in knowing what the fuck it wants
Me, me, me, me, me, me

With eyes, hands, mouth, and body
I fuck you until I cannot
Eyes rolling into the back of my head
Yes, Love, accept that I am flawed
Slay my dragons and
Take me closer to god…

My whole existence is flawed / You get me closer to God

Christina Schmidt, MA