We are all sexual creatures,
we dress up in our dowdy
exterior paints, some flat primer
and our simple stitched cloth
and dance around the reality.
We anchor ourselves to deep ocean
currents, a green sea of
belief and understood truth.
Sometimes it’s received truth
sent to us from barmen and priests,
often times they’re the same type of confessor,
and the guilt that washes over the majority
smells like memories of perfume or cologne,
a small tangy taste of skin and curlicues of
hair plucked from open mouths.
The weight of it all is written off as sin or
transgression; panacea for the soul is kneeling
supplication, followed by suction in the same
position later in the week.
Sexual creation dances crazy evolutionary
foxtrots to an offbeat, and nature gives us the
heat and need to fuck, culture gives us the shame.
In two eyes seeing though, whatever be their color
or what gender they belong,
can and do long for it.
Despite what loud or little voices say:
lust will always find a way.