No Wicked Indulgence

You.

You men.

You overestimate your worth

And underestimate hers.

You turn away from the Deep Blue Sea

As if your shallow pool of self

Is better.

The sharp bite of chlorine hiding the stench of

Your fear

And denial

That you are no better than she.

You have no idea what you have

In your hands.

Her.

The inadmissible alibi.

The unadmittable sin.

Too good to stay away.

Too bad to be seen.

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid.

She is better than you think

In ways you cannot imagine.

In ways you never considered.

No confession required.

Toss aside your notions

And your social limitations.

See the depth and expanse of

Who she is.

An ocean of curved flesh

And sharp, pointed mind.

Trigonometry beyond work of any mathematician.

She is the universe in

All its glory.

And you will never see but one corner of it

For your limited vision.

You and all the other of your ilk

And gender.

But as Galileo was solitary in his appreciation

Of space,

So will be the one who finally looks past.

Who has no fear.

It will be his gain.

And your loss.

And there will be no time machine to go back and

Lose face

Rather than losing your heart

And drowning in your puddle of

Pretention.

The price of Indulgence has

Just gone up.

And you…

You can no longer afford her.

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