What an amazing fuck you are.
It’s a blast having sex with you.
It sure pays to deal with a professional.
Oh my God!
Yet afterwards questions flock
like drops of sweat on your beautiful skin.
Have you not sold your soul
to that initial, yet forgotten ideal,
which took over your brain
and now rules there?
Aren’t you just an addict, hooked on
academic quotes,
Ph.D.s and scholarly treatises?
You fight my accusations well.
Fully conscious of your allure
you uncover and spread your thighs.
I can barely utter my other meekly howls:
Can you really be objective?
Aren’t you just a paid propagandist?
Doesn’t your demagoguery make you sick,
while you object it in others?
Don’t you try to justify your biases
by maneuvering and conniving
while giving geysers of pleasure?
Yet, these are just technical skills,
coldly applied to get money from your clients.
You don’t care about them or me
whosoever.
Already waiting for a next client
to seduce him. Or her.
Oblivious to who you sleep with.
Conquering is all that matters.
You don’t understand that I am a goddess.
You answer in a low voice.
My back shivers.
The best woman you’ll ever have, you continue.
I clear my throat.
(Could she be right?)
I need to fight so I say trying to sound nonchalant:
A pimp just took you over
with the false promise of importance.
He made you his slave.
Rape, reward, domination, the world’s oldest trick.
It’s your luck you have met me.
I’ll liberate you.
We will both roam the world.
Energized, honest, piercingly inspirational.
Just let me saw off your chains.
He won’t beat you up anymore.
I’ll defend you.
I keep talking, impressed by
my perceptiveness and intelligence.
All that becomes unimportant once you look at me.
At this moment
I just have to open your book.
and enter deep.
Afterwards, lying in your arms,
I raise on my elbow
look at your shinning face and notice
that your pupils change colors from green to gold.
Clearly that happens because
of our holy liaison.
Pupils can't lie.
That is why
I’ll never leave you.
wow
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