Paradoxes and Oxytocin

Apologies to John Ashbery

THIS poem is concerned with my clit on a very plain level.
It's singing right now. You stare at my eyes
or go wash your face. You found it but you didn't find it.
You missed it, I miss you. Go away!

This poem is mad because it does not want to be yours, but is.
What's in an orgasm? Get away! No hugging!
Thickening vessels and muscular contraction. Love?!
Well, maybe yes, maybe no, but I consider sex to be

An interior thing, something accidentally beautiful,
Like the way we share these sleepless September nights.
Your arms around me. My legs around you. But then
It will hide in the chirps and beeps of chatting & texting.

LOL, I have been played more than once. I think you want only
To open me, to entangle me, and then you won't be there
Or you'll never let me win at Scrabble. But then this poem
Has set you all sweaty next to me. This poem is mine. Damnit!

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