On Self Soothing

Between Love & Fallout

0317.2025

“There will be sex after death, we just won’t be able to feel it.”

— Lily Tomlin

In love and horny,

I know, it’s corny

But:

the leaves and the trees,

the birds and the bees,

the flora and the fauna,

the heat in a sauna,

(Somewhere in this world!)

The hormones are raging,

and the world keeps aging,

so, which is louder

and makes us prouder—

The nursing home closet,

where Harold misplaces it—

or the schoolyard dugout,

where they all make out?

Ah,

the wind and the rain,

the pleasure and the pain.

If there is a loss,

there’s more gain!

The oil and water

only work when it’s hotter.

The kiss and the care,

the undressing stare—

(Trying to put it together in a poem

I don’t even own.)

It’s too fucking funny and utterly depressing,

the sheer fact someone’s not undressing,

Doesn’t keep me from laughing, making it a joke,

but I’ll tell you what, man—

I think we’re soon beyond the stroke.

So, let’s turn our gaze to Mother Nature

and all the wild things she will conjugature—

And let us laugh and skip and dance for fun,

and think of love and lust, while galloping under the sun.

After all, the world is in flames, torn apart,

and doomsday is creeping up, like an ill-timed fart.

So let’s be gay and merry, and maddeningly free—

and revel in Mother Nature’s lunacy!

m.c.f.