Confession
A cat licks my nipple during sex.
This is not a euphemism
for the sound of grooming
is quite like cunnilingus
Both involve tongues.
One tongue has barbs.
I do not enjoy metaphors
or tongues.
I am still new to sex
with women. More at stake.
Personhood in balance.
How much does it matter
to be queer.
Contemplating Taiwan
land of rabbit goddesses
and lesbians. I suppose I inflate
my perception of her.
To make a goddess
of a poet
or a pussy. It is sacrilege
to the cat gods, the Egyptian
and the Japanese. How do
their spines fit into any shape.
Mine only fits
into tangents.
I tell the mathematician
and she laughs. It is easy
to please spines
Not so much a woman.
My Bisexuality Wavers
Depending on the media I am consuming
then. I am horny for a man
or maybe I am just horny for anything
to subjugate me to a place
I have forgotten. Truly
I am forgetting that this earth
is merely a liminal space. That it is bounded
by time—a nearly infinite constraint
yet finite. I apply boundary
conditions on my conditional
sexuality and find a superposition.
I am Schrodinger’s Vagina. I am
a heresy. I burn shame
in a paper cup and toss the cup
into a dumpster can
my grandmother uses to burn her wishes
for the gods. Some say this is
a worse offense. I say it is
preventative. In heaven I wish
for every possibility to manifest.
Sharon Lin is an essayist and poet. Her work appears in The New York Review of Books, Sine Theta, The Adroit Journal, and elsewhere and is anthologized in Best New Poets 2021 and Voices of the East Coast. She lives in New York City.