Sara E.G. Francis 

Sestina in the Key of Madness 

It starts slowly with a fever, a heat
wave rises from your flesh moving
inward with a fury. You attract the other
sex free from your ego, the world made
fresh by knowing what it means to
fuck. 

Explore who’s best, compare the fucks. 
One man can’t contain this fever. Let women
show you a fresh take on what can be done
to flesh. Your breasts, your clit, your cunt
now free to experiment with fury. 

When you find the man whose fury
matches yours, you can’t help but fuck
on everything, everywhere. Free to reach
that climaxed fever, marking your days
by slaps of flesh, you become seasoned
and unfresh. 

But soon he leaves you and a fresh wound
forms that others smell with fury of their
own and bite into your flesh to maim and
show you how to fuck with malice. Rage at
a fevered pitch darkens what was once
freedom. 

You want their passion to be free so take on
violence as a fresh style of love, while strange
fevers replace the one you knew. Fury and sex
are one, or maybe you’re too fucked up to
know the difference in flesh. 

You settle for calm in the flesh of a quiet
man who bores. Free from the threat of
blows, but he fucks you without fire.
Relief is fresh, yet you wonder how,
sans fury, he can even care. This fever 

takes on all forms. We drown in fresh blood
freed from our flesh in fury and give no fucks.
The winner is the fever.