RANT#1

Maybe you already
once imagined
a woman was a poem
and man was prose
but like an ice sculptor
you froze
as you three took
a surreal taxi ride
from you room
to discover neither
was a prospective
bride or groom
taking off
in a denuded pressing
from a perspective
of quixotic sex
in the eccentric undressing
of a nonexistent cant
as the cab pulled up
in the snow
you were caught
in a hallucination
of this rant
with indulgence
to accept a threesome
invitation
yet you are no pretender
to any throne
for gender did not matter
as the leaves scatter
in a fickle finger and bone
of fate from a belief
in your mind set
that gives you relief
as of any religious high
that sexually, intellectually
(as Freud discovered)
by accepting in bed
not to be annoyed
that you are not straight
and your fate is to be bi
instead.