Up to my pupik* with poems on sex
Drowning in sweat and hot lubricants.
Call me old fashioned, but I must demur
No one is hot to get into my pants.
All I can think as you rave about love
Somebody’s going to get hurt real bad.
And I’m not talking about the position
Or falling out of that harness doodad.
When you blow air on it, it will cool down
And in front of an audience? Come on!
Maybe it’s the American in me
Who doesn’t talk about who’s come and gone.
Twenty inches on inches and itches
Starts sounding a little too Show Bizzy.
Been there and done that, gotten all the shots
Juggled male models into a tizzy.
Strangely enough, only one thing haunts me
Holding the hand of the man I loved most.
The orgasms and ejaculations
Are not the things of which I want to boast.
And sitting in my rocking office chair
An old lady logged again onto Facebook.
Don’t judge your writings by my jealousy.
If you need write it, I’m happy to look.
*A Yiddish word meaning lady parts.
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