Sexmania 2010

I touch the screen
And start to answer
He touches me
And starts to dance, ha!

We make love indiscreet
And start a sojourn
We make out on the street
And startle many, for long

I fuck him hard and sweet
And he winces in pleasure
I pull it out swift and neat
And answer the call of another

We meet at a workshop
And I flirt with him
We meet at a coffee shop
I later play strings with him

We make passionate love
And I worry about his e-mails
We make delicious breakfast
And I fidget in my g-mail

I have capuccino, he has mocha
And I get a call, a warning
I sip my coffee, he reads out español
And I get shit-scared by the warning

We patch up over Skype
And I flirt with the Superman
We have an argument
And I become Mary Jane

I chat him up for a walk
Meet with him at McDonald's
I and he decide Marine Drive
We chat, cry, expose

We talk a lot on the way back
And hold hands in the train
I and he part at McDonald's
And I take a bus as he walks

I call him up to talk
And he agrees to meet tonight
I and he meet up at his place
And he fucks me to heaven and hell

We talk about meeting up
And he's not sure when and where
I and he part at his door
And we don't even kiss on the lips

I talked up three other men today
And I don't know how and when
I'll meet them and have fun
And it will go on and on

Promiscuity of the Soul

This poem was written by Vinokur and was inspired by my colleauge SS. Thanks to both!

There is, of course, the promiscuity of flesh -
reviled or celebrated through the ages.

There is, as well, a promiscuity of the soul.
It madly, blindly, greedily grasps at life.

From this multiplicity, this frenzied fielding of efforts,
good or bad ensues:

Confusion, incompletion, frustration, sorrow, wreckage.
And, finally,
madness.

Or multi-faceted genius
steeped in knowledge, experience, wisdom.
It wins the Nobel Prize.
Is hailed, admired by all.

What determines
which it will be?
Biochemistry.