Sex Without Love
“How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love?” Getting into a priest’s position
or some monk or monkey’s position, they glide
like gliders, they skate in circles like skaters,
forward, backward, up, down, down, up
and move like machines in rhythmic motions
as if never coming to stop, till their faces are red,
like red wine their hearts are racing like
Indy 500 racing, their lungs are bursting,
huffing, puffing as if balloons are bursting. Like
at the instant of death dying, dying by coming,
coming, coming back to life, reborn, like born
again Christians coming to see their god. Why should
the love making be only in making love
to lovers? Why can one not make love
only for one’s own pleasure?
without love?” Getting into a priest’s position
or some monk or monkey’s position, they glide
like gliders, they skate in circles like skaters,
forward, backward, up, down, down, up
and move like machines in rhythmic motions
as if never coming to stop, till their faces are red,
like red wine their hearts are racing like
Indy 500 racing, their lungs are bursting,
huffing, puffing as if balloons are bursting. Like
at the instant of death dying, dying by coming,
coming, coming back to life, reborn, like born
again Christians coming to see their god. Why should
the love making be only in making love
to lovers? Why can one not make love
only for one’s own pleasure?
posted by Ravi Kopra at 11:43 AM
2 Comments:
Then its no longer love making just another way of escaping and you come back to earth as empty as you were when you left. (thanks for the post!)
Although I might have missed a couple - I would say this is not only the best poem on this page, but the only good poem. The word play that tangles and stretches -like the speaker for a rationalization - to be selfish. It flows and sparkles with wit and ironic music. I would like to see more.
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