Cocks (A Poem)

I used to love men's cocks
those absurd, proud popinjays
posturing, silly, silky hard
pleasing when proud & excited,
then, like a sad prairie animal
when unaroused, like a lipstick
no one likes the color of
so never uses.

I used to like the sight
the taste and thrust of a cock
sometimes
I even liked the actual man
but not that often. They were
stains on my sheets, beads
crowding my busy bracelets,
stepping stones to my discovery:
they were something to me once.

I no longer care for the cocks
or the men, for their blustering
or politics, for sperm and thrust
aggression, oppression, wet spots
sore thighs, broken dreams
broken stones when you want
to tread lightly.