Sappho's Flame

Sappho’s flame burns on
through us
on the same beach where she lay
with so many women . . .
forbidden or not.

Love and sex
are the only timeless things.
Sand and bodies crumble to the sea
but passion burns forever, and a pussy
is always the key.

Unlocking your Holy of Holies
licking it raw
sticking my tongue deep inside
wanting to devour you whole
and make us one.

Reductio ad absurdum . . .
αναγωγή σε παραλογισμό . . .
Keep pounding me right into the sand
making me cum to absurdity.

Making me squirt a gallon
on the salty shore
in the summer breeze
near the olive trees.

I wonder how many more orgasms
we can have
until we forget our names
and become one
with the flowing spirit of Lesbos.

Another artistic expression of devotion
on the island of poets.

Did Sappho use a dildo?
Only the gods know . . .
but I sure as hell do.

Shoving that pink plastic phallus
up your tight pink twat
over and over and over
instead of the real thing.

What is “real”
and what is “true?”

Only words, Sappho would say,
speaking softer than deeds.

I want to stay on this Greek beach
fucking you until we die . . .

but we have to go back to our accounting firm
in Philadelphia.