The Politics of Sex

I took you like a tyrant takes freedom.
Gentle at first, clothes like rights shed hotly
tossed to the wind, fabricated motley
of garments beneath our rolling random
silhouettes. We eclipse the sun and shade
the earth beside us, our syncopated
motion, yearning desire, satiated.
Exhausted forms, newly apart and laid
below the crystal sky, airing tulips
with panting, slowing breaths. Defiant smiles
breed overwhelming tension that beguiles
your touch and begs resolution of lips.
Our reign ending, the heavy clothing strain
weightedly holds us in bondage again.