Imagine, if you will, that
you are not permitted
to read this poem.
That the simple act of gazing
upon this column of words
indicts you, Criminal,
because a small coterie
of officials you have never met
decided that the
single graphic image
this poem contains –

that of a young man’s
mushroomed penis
sliding into the sheath
of his lover’s flushed,
moist vulva –

is obscene, vulgar, prurient,
and not fit for your chaste eyes.

You are not a child of storks.