Female Ejaculation: A Tempering
Faith is a double edged sword.
All your life people will tell you to believe
in things you can't put your finger on
like love, and you will never
doubt the half of it. Remember
that male ejaculation is a myth.
In the beginning was the word
and no one mouthed off. Every river
runs its bounds, a masterpiece
knows its being watched. This time
set it and then you do. My,
oh my, what long lists of betrayal
they reserve for you. This man will
say it is so and this woman will say it
is not. But when you gush
over the smallest gestures, there's
a name for that, it's etched lower
on the turnstile, like a carnival
she's a middle ring act
acting up: the entire internet
will disagree as to her cohesiveness.
This one is split level and messy;
this one shakes waterfalls.
Every cue says wait till you feel
like you have to go and then
go, anyone who won't swallow
each piece of you doesn't
really deserve more time
and heart. A study dismisses
or in one fell swoop all the pretties
mimic other bodies, male bodies
made to perform, their marker
a mark of trade: here we come along
secretly in the tented margins
where the heading runs. She can splay
genderwise the beauty of a nothing,
a sparkled gemstone in the crutch;
you get more than you bargain for.
I don't really understand this ecard: are they swimming in female ejaculate or are they going to look for it underwater? Or are they just having one of those conversation you have when you're about to go scuba diving?