The die has been cast,
And it has come to pass,
An apocalypse is afoot,
Upon friend and foe alike!
This apocalypse shall not speak shyly,
Nor in girlish giggling or flushed whispers of a va-jay-jay,
No, this apocalyse speaks calmly, boldly, solidly without fear or malice or favor.
This apocalypse will not sound like Hoo Hah,
Or any other carelessly thrown onomatopoeia for use in rhyme or euphoric rants!
No, this apocalypse will be as a sonata, a resonating pulse that is without word but pregnant by meaning.
This apocalypse will not be a pussy,
Reduced to some inanimate object,
To be poled, rammed or pounded be any and every phallic projection!
No, this apocalypse is faithful and pure in tantric union,
As a communion, in love that concieves true ectasy in passion.
This apocalypse is vaginal,
The reason for which we are termed women,
A symbol of life and of love will come,
As an epiphany to women,
As a revelation to men
And a realisation to society.
The Black Widow