When we made love on

the kitchen counter

the surface was wet

and you were giggling

the cat looked askance

at such goings-on

the TV announced a prize

no one would win

the carpet groaned

with memory of the time we

made love there

– it mused in melancholy,

“Is this what civilization has come to?”

brooms rustled in the broom closet,

concealing their phallic thrust

birds twittered on limbs outside our window,

saying,”it’s a fine day to

be in love.”

but you and I know

every day is a fine day

every moment not loving

is a moment wasted

the rhythm of the Universe is everything

making love to each other,

clasping, pumping,

up and down, back and forth,

around and around

the sun has its way with the

deep blue sky

plants spread themselves

with inviting smiles

and even when we just walk about,

doing all the everyday things

we usually do

we look at each other with complicitous smiles,

knowing deep inside we’re

always intertwined, panting, carrying on

it’s awful

it’s messy

it’s dirty, dirty, dirty!

we’ll never be free

’cause we don’t wanna

it’s too damn

fun….