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Sensuality

By
Sensuality.
Am I a prude, or just a realist?
She looked
like she had grapefruits
in her back pockets.
How stupid
would you look
walking around with grapefruits in your back pockets?
And summer moonlight
is no different
from winter,
because the moon doesn’t give off heat.
And the Earth is not your mother,
and you can’t make love to her either,
you dolt.
Nor do fireworks really go off behind your eyelids,
when you happen to touch your lips
with someone else’s lips;
nor is skin like silk, or brown eyes like chocolate, or blue like limpid pools
(an eye is an eye is an eye);
nor is a lanky, graceful woman like a gazelle;
nor is a gazelle attractive at all.
And who decides
which fruit
is sexy fruit?
There is something so ridiculous
about the very notion
that there is sexy fruit.
But open a book or turn on the television,
and you will see sexy fruit,
sexy chocolate,
sexy yogurt.
Sexy yogurt?
I reject thee, sensuality.
Because I feel like you’ve stuck your nose in too far
where it does not belong.
And because we always reject
what we do not understand.





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