The Cry of a Sex Demon

An angel fallen from the virgin sky,            
I was once the angel that everyone loved,            
but in the starlight of the night            
and the blooming moonflowers,            
this angel claimed one desire            
and was tossed forever into the darkness.            
           
Not God, but men did this.            
Taking him by his shackled arms,            
they stripped him down and showed his erection for the entire world to see.            
This is me.            
I love to think of women            
and envision loving one and glorifying her with all my strength,            
but this is only a dream,            
so I write            
and I speculate,            
and I come to reason what all sex should be—      
acknowledgment with our senses every vibration of sexual interexpression      
as another being unleashes itself onto our naked bodies      
while we are being free to explore the  pretty depths of that other's being.      
     
I draw with pencil my knowledge of the red desires,            
of a naked valley woman becoming known to the sun—            
graphite strokes of fire            
but not of hell fire,            
of sex fire            
that grows stronger under the sex rain            
that falls over the sex ocean            
by which we set our tents and begin our fire.            
There are many fires that we haven’t put out            
floating out on the open sex sea.            
           
Sex fire is the beauty.            
Sex rain is the desire.            
Sex ocean is the sweet endless consummation            
with the one you love,            
I figure.            
           
A woman forced her breasts tightly into my heart,            
and I screamed that without love,            
we have nothing.            
Another woman escaped my prison cell that is my loneliness            
(to which I had invited her because I had maintained the presumption that she would free me)            
when I showed her the fire in my beliefs            
that is sex fire, not hell fire,            
but she burned me all the same.            
           
Please call me lovely demon. I am well mannered            
though the church and the schools tore away my suit and tie            
and revealed me, a bare naked man,            
admiring the field of lady flowers that shunned me from afar.            
Never had I seen so many roses bow their heads.            
Maybe I really am evil.            
           
“Here is your demon,” a pastor insisted,            
but I believe that he had once called me Brother Beauty.            
Now Sex Demon is all the identity that I can claim.            
“Here is your stereotypical ruthless man,”            
said a feminist for all the women to hear            
because I am a lover of the erotic            
though I love everything and would worship a woman.            
Let me down on my knees pretty lady.            
I’ll drink the drink of submission.            
I would part the pair of marble pillars to give the humid language of my tongue as a promise            
because one day I learned            
that a woman must be loved.            
           
There while being exploited by the eyes of the people, I saw many men.            
Before, I had hid from them my erotic nature because I didn’t want them to confuse it with            
something else that is vulgar,            
but I could now see that it was fate            
that it would be misinterpreted.            
My firm abdomen and thighs mean years of running,            
and the erection stiffened and lengthened for the world to see.            
No one cared what for.            
           
Bubbling beauty of the bountiful bonny braes of my affection,            
woman, where have you gone from me?            
The shadows beneath every object spit upon by moonlight take me by their tortured hands            
and steal me away without your sunlight,            
and I begin to doubt in my own self.            
The townspeople were correct in their assumptions of me.            
           
The officials lifted the pectoral muscles of my chest and showed how they were well-defined            
and how they shifted quickly back to their places,            
and they claimed that because I had been so focused on body            
that I had neglected mind,            
and they called it a puddle.            
They made a thoughtful man into a child.            
Yet, I stood taller and the workman made itself more erect            
to work on the minds of the people in front of me            
           
because there were children that hated me now.            
Their mothers and fathers told them that I am darkness,            
but I didn’t begin to know darkness until they had thrown me from their oldest daughter’s house            
when they had heard that I like deep eyes, soft cheeks, warm breasts,strong legs, and that            
not only a body that smells of glorious perfume enchants me,            
as well a body that smells potently of naked feminine skin.            
They found out that I was a man            
that would spend nights under the stars alone with their daughter holding her close and kissing her,            
and telling her            
that I love her            
at such an early time. I was quick to fall in love.            
But they rejected me            
when they heard of the intensity that I feel about bearing my love into a woman’s existence            
and leaving an eternal marker in the sand of her soul.            
           
The people stared longer,            
and the erection grew stronger            
assuming everything that I believed in,            
every dark element that I always had held to myself as a jewel of light.            
I saw the contorted faces of women I used to admire            
as they would sit beside me in the library            
as I did my studies            
on the demonic truths of sexuality.            
             
I am a fallen angel. They once thought that I was too good to fall under eroticism's spell,            
but I collapsed            
and died and rose again            
into a new open reasoning            
that declared vulnerability as strength if it’s shared with a lover            
under the dim lights of an autumn’s shivery late            
when the bumps begin to rise from the unveiled human flesh,            
and blood rushes to the cheeks,            
and a man can say that his love appears more like a jewel than ever            
blushing of red ruby in her chilled maiden arms,            
and he can come to his jewel crossing the bridge of darkness            
into the wondrous light of her womanly aura,            
taking her, shielding her from the weather with his arms,            
squeezing her chest and body into his,            
skin to skin stroking the other calmly            
and suddenly with frenzy (oh, frenzy is what I love            
and kissing lip petals to lip petals while breathing the crisp autumn air            
and making it thick with panting and exercise—oh this is what I love),            
and finding a use for my erection            
other than for cause of banishment.            
           
I looked into the face of earthly judgment            
and hoped that God would think better of me.            
And I erected to the point of a heavy boulder hanging off the edge of a cliff.            
I ignored the crowd.            
This was all due to the fact that way out there in the distance of my imagination,            
I saw God forming a beautiful woman,            
and he gave her no clothes because she was innocent,            
and he gave her a sacred bay in which she would bathe herself,            
and life was perfect.            
I saw man come to her in her pure vulnerability and lie down with her,            
and I saw him stick an evil inside her,            
and she became ashamed and made herself sad black linen,            
but suddenly I witnessed a great salvation,            
and God gave the woman to me            
and said, “Treat her well.”            
“LORD, I will,” I replied,            
and woman returned to be shameless before me—the new man.