She wanted my poetry to empower her crave for esoteric-thought-revelation and secretly to curb her sapiosexual desire for intellectual sex. Nasty Sex, she was twisted, ironically bonded by trauma, nothing about her was safe. She loved sex dangerous, not in a vulgar way but in a way like high grade c'est, might lose your mind on the thought when she grinds, she girates into your hearts cardiac rhythm, till my eyes rolls back, go blind and find a psychedelic sight, to visions of...