STRAIGHT! UP! GAY!

O sisters of soft thunder, queens of the curve,

You who bloom in canvas like ripe fruit in sun,

Whose flesh is not excess but gospel, reserve

For those who know heaven is not only won—

It is worn.

O rubenesque riot, hips wide as protest,

Breasts like defiant moons in orbit’s proud claim.

You stride through oil and myth in silken unrest,

Shaking off shame like a gown with no name.

You are thunderous flame.

Gay goddesses, wrapped in your own sweet delight,

Dripping with laughter, with honey, with might,

You shattered the frame of the male-gaze lie—

You are Venus and vixen, Madonna gone sly.

Painted in joy, not in penance or pain,

Each roll a rebellion, each dimple a flame,

Your bodies speak tongues we forgot we could hear—

Lush dialects of freedom, queer and sincere.

You are muses for sapphic dreams unconfined,

Where love is not trimmed to the edge of a line.

In your arms, softness is power reborn—

In your smile, every storm becomes dawn.

So here’s to the women whom Rubens adored—

Not silent, not still, not chaste or ignored.

But blazing, commanding, adored in full bloom—

Gay icons of flesh, of art, of the room.

You taught us:

The rounder the glory, the deeper the song.

The queerer the canvas, the more we belong.