To My Unborn Child -

A letter to the child I would have, if my sexuality was not such a tangled battlefield, if I could simply concern myself only with the ways of men, if I could always concern myself whatsoever with sex, if the thought did not repulse me so.

To My Unborn Child –

 

Oh, the things we would do, dear one, if I were a woman!

My flower would unfold in a flood of autumn

And your father, his roots grown inside my secrets.

Every extinguished banner would have snaked open

And forgotten the impalpable way before was, in solitude.

You, my darling, would be now then. Be the way

I was, after not giving up. Sexuality

Is a taste I may not care for, after all,

The burn & rush & taint & twinge

Of lifting ceilings to reveal our bodies.

I care equally none for the caressing of breasts as the gagging

On semen as it is hot in my throat. I find perhaps

I fear virginity. But the lack thereof,

I name it after you.

Author's Note

Are the third and fourth lines from the end too suddenly technical?