Who Enjoys Sex More
Men or women? Or how sex is a struggle between oiled giants,rubbery titans of tit and cock, pussy and mouth, in aerial strangulation,
golden gods and furry beasts waltzing, a hustle of breath, bone,
and fire, lord, on tiled floor, the grid fire on our backs, which we feel only then.
We blaspheme better then. The prey is naked. One bite is freedom.
But who among the women will slide off her clothes and fuck?
But who among the men will not go impotent or cum too soon?
We the naked, we the free, in our pubic haze, in our horny blindness, jump
over slashed wrists, frozen libraries, stale circuses, like packs of wolves.
Tiresias, blinded by Hera, laughs as he divines
who enjoys it more, men or women? He laughs because he knows
women do. Fierce darkness falls over his eyes. And in women,
he sees them on poles and in the throes of cash and orgasm, while in men,
white-mustached men, licking their mustaches, sweat in steam rooms,
dirty towels hiding their shrunken balls and penises. We the free
power divine, a thousand slaves for each command, ancient bodies of sailors
washing to shores, skulls on poles, cannibal teeth, monstrous clout.
We eat hell better, a bloodlessness rushing the ecstatic brain. Look at the woman.
Look at the man. Fake and untrue in their bodies. We can watch in love,
waiting for a kiss to satisfy. For us, kisses are never equal, but always the truth.
Poetry by Vincent Caruso
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Written on 2009-04-17 at 14:28
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