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Natasha Sajé
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Firethorn: a trope for
Fucking, which people talk entirely too much about, the
Flurry of phonemes a substitute,
Foucault would say. I’m beginning to be
Free of it. Reading
Feldenkrais makes me blush, how much it mattered. I’d rather swim than
Fornicate. Laura asks, how often? It depends what you mean by sex, I say. I never
Fetishized, was never caught in
Flagrante delicto.
Forget the times I’d pull to the side of the road
For some, heating up at 30
Farenheit outside. It’s a
Falcon honing in on a nest of mice, a venomous
Fang, a
Farce in Braille and Esperanto. And
Freud, was he ever wrong! About inversion, envy, and hysteria. O
Faucet I’ve turned to a trickle, O
Fracas muffled in silk, I don’t give a
Fig—your furor and fuss have
passed, o bittersweet.

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