Sure, Why Not Sex?

 

Soft-core used to do the trick, sure.
Now, you want sex. A comic sensibility
is the short end of the stick. I’m sure

you want sex. Sometimes a punch

to the face feels much more assured
than always this wanting sex. Weed out

the a******s by experience. Too sure

of themselves to really want sex.

I desire a green-light on every pleasure.

I can’t Imagine you want that sex.

A year from now you’re going to measure

how much you want sex, constantly

wanting to reach the next level treasures

the American way: it is wanting sex.

Why be modest? It’s too much pressure.

You groom, you want sex. You bleach

the more influential areas. Sure

you want sex? It’s a monster business

with evaporating revenue. But, sure,

it’s wanting sex that keeps us optimistic,

keeps nature in our corner. Sure

enough, you always want sex. Eating

ice chips, taking cold showers to ensure

steady wheels don’t freaking  come off.  

It’s a funny racket, certainty, for sure.

You want miraculous intercourse, standing
in armchairs, having yourself a seizure.  

You want sex subsidies, want all unhelpful
things set in motion to somehow find closure.