for a woman to explore and express the fullness of her sexuality, her  emotional and intellectual capacities, would entail who knows what risks and who knows what truly revolutionary alteration of the social conditions that demean and constrain her.
Or she may go on trying to fit herself into the order of the world and thereby consign herself forever to the bondage of some stereotype of normal femininity- a perversion, if you will.

louise J. Kaplan

Your hair a tangle in my hand.
Pulled taut as you are fed.
Your hands free to stroke me.
Almost to much to contain.
And still some remains.

Perfect in every way.
A succulent headed shaft.
A slow stroll to my churning furnace.
Where the heat is overwhelming.
And compelling, you to take it all.

Love me,
adore me,
worship upon this alter.
Never get enough of me.
nor be free of me.
in heart, in mind, and soul.

Bring me to your heart.
Let me fill you with my seed.
My slave, my concubine, my faithful wife.
Drink your fill of me.
Then taste forevermore.
That which is only yours.

Lay upon our satin bed.
Where love has always bound you.
And I will bind you once again.

With steel, and rope, and tender love.
With silk, and chain, and leather.
Your body now, will be my altar.
That I will pray upon.

My lips, hot breath and teeth.
Will map your flesh complete.
Then find the flower that begs of me.
To dazel you with riches.

And I, with love and passion heat.
Will paint upon your flower.
No petal left unbrushed.
And only slightly, gently roughed.
And made to grow with power.

My hands like world explorers.
My mouth your islands shore.
My breath, the wind that drives you on.
Until I reach your center.
And bring you to,
That blissful end.

Then two as one.
Our souls become.
Some, might call that love.

But more than that, this kind of love.
Is bread, and thirst, and life.
It's all the things, that fill our dreams.
And stops the flow of time.