Little fundamental
Christian girl, you’re giving me
a fundamentalist arousal.
I’m afraid that Amishy
dress betrays you at every curve.
I want your dark
braids in my teeth,
the same braids that shake
when you get worked
up over age-old contradictions.
Your face is beautiful
with your head lowered
toward the book you always carry,
but can words really
answer for all of this?
And your body so
deliciously virginal,
girlish beneath
those thick home-made folds.
The more you cover up the
more alluring you become,
and you can just forget
about hiding from evolution.
Our fates are locked together
like our bodies in my dream,
where only a lightning bolt
could come between us, and leave us
like this,
heads bowed
over desks,
cutting up
our piglets with a savage zeal.
