How to Have Sex in Your Thirties (Or Forties)
Only way is to fuck
like you’re stalling
the body’s departure
from doing
what bodies will do:
end. Call it back
from its route
to extinction.
Tether
it to its own
underbelly, the land
of living. Speak
its basement desire.
If you can do that,
well, then
you’ve done a thing.
Young sex
misunderstands metaphor.
To the young,
the dying
of the light,
is mere abstraction.
Light is not light.
It means anything else.
But bodies
that have beget bodies?
Bodies that have buried
the bodies
that made them?
Bodies that have buried
the bodies
they have beget?
They know what
multiplies and disappears.
They know what light means.
I fuck like a last request.
Like I’m saying:
maybe reconsider your departure?
I make you feel
like we have choice
in all this. Which is
the real romance:
this witnessing. This rally
against your finitude
when you’re too tired
for the front line.
