My husband is a left wing snob and I love him anyway
because the road to salvation leads through the tunnel
of sexual intercourse. I have read de Sade
as well as the Story of O, My Secret Life,
and the Song of Songs and I know because
My husband has all the resentments of a lifelong protester
instead of accepting reality as it is, and I have to listen
when he’s in the driver’s seat and I’m in the death seat,
though the very words death seat bring me back
to bed, to being in the death seat when we’re in bed,
and orgasm is a distinct possibility, because
he’s not a selfish lover, and that to me is more important
than his hateful leftwing snobbery.
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