Our sex still makes me smile,
And why not?
Upwards it goes,
A lifting, fragrant smoke that soothes,
And there is so much more pleasure
In that soothing
Because it’s just me;
It’s just you.
And Him, of course.
One highly aroused
Spectrasexual God and/or Goddess.
We are spitted and turned
Over Her aching wildfires,
Her be-with-Me-baby blazes,
But that just means
All pretense is toast,
All falseness crisped.
It truly is me;
It truly is you.
And Her, of course.
Our sex still makes Her smile.
And why not?
--
DK is the Supervisor of The Words Department at Center of The Golden One in Denver, Colorado. He is 73 years old and has been a Dad, playwright, lawyer, and a psychotherapist, but recently he has been inhabited with the muse of poetry and cannot stop writing. His poetry publishing credits include Macrame Literary Journal, The Accendo Review, Metempsychosis Journal, Soul Poetry, and Enkidu.