If you were not here watching,
I’d let my twin muses inject their sex:
She is a wanton goddess of self
Absorption; he, a careless prick, hot and desirable.
They touch me when I ask
Them to and where I would during masturbation.
They are like my own hands, these Twins of Masturbation:
When they ravage me, I am my own voyeur, watching
My pussy juice soak the page. You ask
If this poem is about sex.
I wonder would you find that desirable,
Then I obsess about myself.
You search this poem for signs of yourself
Your lips, your hair, your tits/your dick, your masturbation
Fantasies, your proof you are desirable.
I watch you watching.
And yes, this poem is about sex. It is sex.
Take it, you don’t have to ask,
You never have to ask
For what belongs to you, this poem, this self
Pleasure, however you like it. Even sex,
In pairs or in trios is masturbation—
Whether you give it or get it or like watching—
If you focus just on what you find desirable.
Fuck me desirable.
Teach my tongue how to ask
For it. Do you think God is watching?
When I am with you, there is only one self.
Will you be my masturbation?
This is not sex, this is not about sex,
Because sometimes sex means sex,
Women and men. Besides, is it desirable
For me to say that life is one big masturbation?
You can’t afford the answer if you have to ask
Or maybe we owe it to ourselves
To ask and I would if you were not watching.
But you are so I won’t write about sex nor will I ask
You to think of cum-stained rainbows. It’s not desirable, literary, or self
Respecting. I swear, no talk of unicorn masturbation toys. And no porn watching.
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013