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This is my sex confession, not yours.

It could never be, each person with
their own views of sex, what it’s for,
what it’s not for, how to do it, how often,
with who or not at all.

Celibacy is another thing, and would take
another poet to know it, I’ve only been on
its road a short time.

I prefer Big Yang to Big Bang, borrowing from
Lao Tzu’s yin and yang:

For there to be everything, there has to be
nothing.  Even Something, like a Universe,
requires Nothing to define it.

Big Bangers say there used to be nothing,
then Something blew up, made Everything.

Believe that, don’t believe that, believe
Adam and Eve and God creating all things
from Eden to the Adirondacks.

It doesn’t much matter, unless you are
one of the crazy ones running around saying
that men and women are the Higher Power.

Judgement, playing God, being #1, 2 and three
we put ourselves as number one, which among
other things leads us to a life of taking all we
want, Freud’s ID.

Mine, mine, mine, let’s conquer that there’s
a rush of going from her to her to her, planting
your flag down to show yourself and others what
a Conqueror you are.

You search sex for self-esteem and find yourself
reeling, wrecking homes, killing children with the
confusion of “Your mom and I are getting a
divorce.”

WTF.  Man can’t separate what God has bound, you
are right to put your head down, there are times
for frozen fake smiles, and times it’s better just
to accept that even Clowns drop and frown.

Turn around.  Talk to a friend.  Perhaps she or
he has spirituality, will help guide you through
the forest of iniquity into the land of fun-filled
virginity, God bless our sex to never hurt the
fabric of the universe.

God grant us fun of a kind that children can
respect and learn from, love that is forever,
Commitment to the wives of our youth, like
Solomon and Malachi advised.

Love is the answer that sex was trying to
supply.  Love, the answer, without it it might
be better to die.

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