Would I write about sex just for hits? It may be true that links from Daze Reader and ErosBlog have more than quadrupled visits here, but you know me better than that, don't ya? I just like sex, hits or not, and it bothers me that there's not much explicitly sexual poetry by men about sex with women, or even about masturbation. There's lots by women about sex with men or by themselves, and lots by gay folks of both sexes, but Charles Bukowski is about it for heterosexual sex from the male point of view and thank goodness it's not like that for most folks. (And you'll let me know if I'm missing something, won't you?)
Part of the reason may be that any straight man writing about sex is automatically suspect in some (not all) feminist circles. Part of it is that straight men are actually, in my experience, the least likely to talk about sex at all beyond the occasional dirty joke—and the dirtiest jokes I ever heard were told by female graduate students in English. I don't really know the reason. It puzzles me.
Anyway, I've added ErosBlog over on the left, and (I swear my motives are pure) here's another poem. This one's pretty new, though versions of it were worked over at Eratosphere about a year ago.
Day Off
With no alarms, no kids, no dogs to bark,
We woke entangled in new love's designs
And scrapped a plan to breakfast in the park.
While kissing where the sheets had marked, "This line's
A path," she said, "which leads to where the prince
Is kept within this tower. Magic signs"—
Another kiss—"in ancient tongues convince
Me he may never cross the threshold till
A fountain gushes from the stone, and since
The sluice will open only to my skill"—
A longer kiss—"and those whose hearts are true
Come safe across the bridge of sighs, I will
Attempt this work." Her tongue then shaped a new
Language until her magic was complete.
"I am released—now say what I must do."
"Just go and bring me something more to eat.
"A jug of port, and Stilton, and fruit—those dark
And spicy D'Anjou pears." I answered "Sweet."
5:16:55 PM 
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