Our world is blatantly obsessed with sex!
Here are some ways in which this manifests:
Celibate priests are raping little boys.
People use whips and chains as bedroom toys.
Men in dark basements can’t get off RedTube.
Men in high places touch their interns’ boobs.
Standards of unattainable beauty
torment the fairer sex (including me).
People resign to promiscuity.
Wait… promiscuity? You’re right to ask.
Given the headline I picked as my task,
shouldn’t I argue FOR sleeping around?
No. That would drive our race into the ground,
if not with some raw, rampant STD
then through the death of vital loyalty.
Instead, I go for polyamory
(that is: having two lovers, maybe three),
but not to compromise intimacy:
I love my lovers better when they’re free.
Once and forever, Shakespeare says it best:
life’s short, love’s true, and silence is the rest.
In my own life, it’s logical
and somewhat biological—
since I like kissing shafts and curves,
monogamy gets on my nerves.
Buuut I don’t want a one-off thing.
Each love’s a romance, not a fling.
In my mind, the best kind of sex
is when both skins and souls connect,
and when I feel the need to take
that hostage, my own love is fake.
One final thing I think is true
(I might be wrong about this, too)
I think the purpose of taboo
is kind of as a last resort:
When people cut their love lives short
and isolation walls them off,
like a collective urge to cough,
taboos are broken, and people open
up to the nakedest of things—
love, which is why the caged bird sings.
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my love of Shakespeare multiplies when shared
& is enriched when others love him differently—
since that’s true, why would i be at all scared
to share (& watch you share) your brilliancy?
taboo is an impartial arbiter
trying to justly serve society,
& those its verdict isolates are bitter
when they feel shunned for their identity;
i’ve felt this, some, with polyamory,
against which the whole planet’s been progressing—
am i not good enough for your “true” love?
no. love, you are too dear for my possessing,
& to your ownership i lay no claim;
you & Shakespeare i love almost the same 🙂
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the modest god of blacksmithing was husband to Venus,
which, in my opinion, means he wielded a fine penis;
but (being immortal) Venus craved variety,
so with the violent, forceful Mars came impropriety.
without missing a beat, the blacksmith took to his forge
& forged a silvery net where 2 gods could be stored
& laid it on the bed where his bride would be bred
against his will (having the skill to make his net invisible).
salaciously entwined, the lovers arrived, wild;
Mars threw Venus at the bed & flung
both thighs aside—
then, the delicate trap wrapped & ensnared them in their shame,
& both gods, caught red-handed, spontaneously came!
finally, complete with the victorious captor,
the trinity, immune to death, erupted in laughter.
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all the great Masters recommend restraint
of thought, word, action & initiative:
always be ready to respond, but wait
for the right time to strike. how do they live
so disciplined, their only time around
more competent than others, but less proud?
as a dam may serve to irrigate the land
& pens pinpoint the fine control of hands,
their limits must be what defines their aim.
is love, which knows no boundaries, the same?
if i want lasting love, is there some vow
that can bind & secure me to its course?
or are great works accomplished to allow
their workers to draw closer to its source?