it seems a little less
sexy
every year.
not counting the sex that sells
cars or brassieres
ignoring the nipple-piercing, tattoo &
leather set
avoiding all the specialty sex with sig-
nificant political overtones
& glossing over profaned cases of
sexual
harassment (including
the confident, presidential
sort).
no, i mean the kind of
sex any bird or
bee would
understand.
the reason turtle-doves bond for
life & kissing
gouramies are colored
pink.
i mean the affectionate kind that puts
blossoms on the trees or
chocolate on the tip of the
tongue.
the sensual kind as clear as
water pouring in a
glass, as natural as
hugging & kissing at the same
time.
it can not be that spring has failed to
come or that ying has filed for
permanent separation from
yang.
no, every
body’s just
locked-up alone in their
apartments
watching
tv
reading
magazines
switched on the
internet
hoping
to be
sexy.