I want

to fuck Charles Darwin.

Sometimes / On the Origin of Species gets me wet.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin and his brain.

Sometimes / I realize why size matters.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin and his brain, directly in front of his finches.

Sometimes / I wish Charles Darwin would rail me in public / right in the middle of the day / right on the altar of a church.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin and his brain, directly in front of his finches, while the apes get progressively smarter.

Sometimes / I think about natural selection and mutations and biodiversity and chance / and the very wonder of it all makes me cum.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin and his brain, directly in front of his finches, while the apes get progressively smarter and cladogenesis rules the day.

Sometimes / I imagine making Charles Darwin moan / and I get the urge to perpetuate our species / but only so my offspring can go on to perpetuate our species / ad infinitum and far into the future / because cogito ergo sum.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin and his brain, directly in front of his finches, while the apes are getting progressively smarter and cladogenesis rules the day, as Alfred Wallace sighs dejectedly and rolls over in his grave.

Sometimes / I fantasize about threesomes with my husband and Charles Darwin / and in the throes of sheer ecstasy / I feel gratitude for the first anaerobic prokaryote / that woke up in the primordial ooze / and decided to evolve.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin and his brain, directly in front of his finches, while the apes are getting progressively smarter and cladogenesis rules the day, as Alfred Wallace sighs dejectedly and rolls over in his grave, all so cishet white men can claim their upward socioeconomic mobility is due to survival of the fittest.

Sometimes / I feel all-encompassing awe / in the euphoria of hedonism and the fog of bliss / that evolution has gifted us giraffes and dragonflies and narwhals and wheat / all from the very same elements and all at the very same time / and I am utterly blown away / that I am a part of this fantastical process / which took a billion universes a billion years to begin.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin

and wait, where was I going with this?

Oh right. I want

to fuck Charles Darwin because intelligence is fucking sexy.

Sometimes / the marvel of evolutionary biology makes up for the abiding misery of mental illness.    

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin because intelligence is fucking sexy, because the wonder of consciousness and conscience is a gift.

Sometimes / the reward of existence is actually worth the Sisyphean effort it takes / to trudge through life every day.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin because intelligence is fucking sexy, because the wonder of consciousness and conscience is a gift, because our very bodies are a miracle of starstuff and luck.

Sometimes / I feel so thankful that I somehow did not succumb to all the ideation and despair.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin because intelligence is fucking sexy, because the wonder of consciousness and conscience is a gift, because our very bodies are a miracle of starstuff and luck, because we are fortunate beyond measure for every breath we have the privilege to take.

Sometimes / I cannot believe that Pavlovian orgasms / and the magic of Dialectical Behavior Therapy / have permitted me this life / rife with children / and love / and the experience of joy.

I want

to fuck Charles Darwin because evolution is magic disguised as science, because nature is a deity and the human condition a miracle, because simply arriving at this moment required the sum total of everything everywhere that has ever been, because all we can do is try our absolute best in this fucked-up world, because I think Charles Darwin might have understood that, too.

Sometimes / even when I’m not fucking Charles Darwin / I am still just ecstatic to be alive.