Sonnet from the Groin by Maggie Wells

Crazed with spring all I want to do is fuck, free
these thighs from their denim prison, let the rich
scent floating around my neck take a look see
into the under things of a man. (Which
man is a trivial spec.) Oh! To be flying
above a mattress, screaming not with hate
but with throaty mating only trying
for the peak and pinnacle of frolic. Fate
and I have made a bargain: to compel
the most virile to lay me down, discipline
the demon out of my body. Possible
friction, find me I’m not hiding, will become
an electric pink rubber band on command. Womb
you have nothing to do with this! Time to bloom.