I knew a girl who saw the world
as a label for the breaking.
As Rebel of the Word, she loved
to buck the rules of naming.
She wrote all names in lowercase,
spelled womyn with a Y,
refused to speak of promises,
unless we called them lies.
A vagina was a vestibule.
Going down was extra silly.
No cunnilingus here, mon frère.
She called it gilding the lily.
Her fertile crescent wept
and under the moon, it bled.
She talked of transformation,
instead of being dead.
I was her wild Mustang,
she the Lipizzan in poses
with an earthen vase that held
a dozen buttless roses.
No such thing as love, she said.
Only flowers fading slowly.
No gods or rings or bridal things.
Only companionship was holy.
Notes:
I don't know what goes on in my head. I really don't. I'm also really pissed off because I feel like most of these stanzas don't flow in this order, but I have no better idea how to arrange them. D<
* I know this isn't the meaning of 'gilding a lily', but lilies always make me think of yuri, which is Japanese word for 'lily' and a label for lesbian manga/anime/stories. So somehow this phrase gets mixed up in my head with 'tipping the velvet' and things like that. XD
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