Let's Have Sex

I will slur

And heel and hem and haw

I will eat a monkey paw

When you call me up and command me to come over to

your house for sex

and tea biscuits, I shall clandestinely drop my

cumberbund down the

dumbwaiter chute.

Lutes will serenade us like liquid lemonade.

You will glisten like newborn snow, and I will listen like a

clairvoyant

nipple clamp.

It will be sex, like nobody has ever had it before in the

history of

postmodern lovemaking.

It will be sex, even if it isn't.

It will be sex, even if only in theory, even if it's only

pantomine, even if it's just a memory, or a dream or a

symphonic approximation;

after a summer of autonomous sodomy and

National Geographic specials

about the pretty animals that use

other animals as food

by eating them.

on television.

But we shouldn't even watch television,

we should just have sex:

Epoch making, earth shaking,

Teeth chattering, dish clattering,

Fish frying, eye popping,

Never stopping, bunny hopping,

Toe tapping, Joseph Papping sex,

Shakespeare in the park kinda sex.

D train to Coney Island vacation kinda sex.

Clandestine in the airplane laboratory kind of sex,

Olympic marathon sex.

All the different ways that we feel like having sex,

we should,

until we grow old and bored and disillusioned.

The let us rekindle our feelings,

forget our despair and our celibate nonsense

and do it like bunnyrats till the cows

come home to roost.

so call me sometime, and let's have sex.