That’s the word certain nerds
use to calm down, back up, and
think, they do it with tone, sometimes
represented in writing with italics.
Thank God for spit, it keeps coming,
the male sex instinct is X, the women’s
is Y, why we’re off sometimes because
X is cross and Y is open and vice versa,
then one day the bomb explodes!
You cannot control Sex.
I imagine the eunuch tries, but
sperms game to swim swim a wild
God, or Life, or Nature—or whatever
power you observe as King—made the
thing go and go and go without relenting!
Sex is like the universe itself, kind of
unknown, stark one moment, pounding
the next, black holes explored the
crevasse of stink, the stank thing you
thought by holding back, comes back like
an avalanche a day later, or in the
middle of the night, holding tight, you
cannot stop the flood, the bursting
of the dyke.
Few! Few are those who can manage
the power, the pulse, the growth,
the manufacturing of eggs and life
forever spinning like the planets
around far off suns, mirroring ours
in a game of loss and won.
Truth is as truth does, and so at
break of day—play!
Then we head with conviction, we
hope to a setting arc, words and
images, sounds and sweat abound
until it stops.
If we were true to our five senses
we get a sixth, peace of mind
finding us at the end of long, well-
lived, singing rhyme.
Doesn’t mean we can make our
bodies stop, they keep going and
going, the energizer god of sex
not a bunny per se, but then again
they boink a lot, or so they always