Sex 

Sex Sex Sex 

Its so pesky: fluff and glitter and showmanship for Sex 

Just Sex 

I can't escape Sex 

Who knows if I'm good at it? 

Does it even matter? 

Sex. Taboo. Universal. Tiring. 

The whole thing is ridiculous. 

All the agonizing and grovelling and pining and scheming, 

I can't make heads nor tails of it. 

It nearly drove Bukowski mad, 

and then nearly me when I read Bukowski. 

Sex is really so simple:

you have it or you don't. 

As long as you know where your penis is 

you know on which side you (and it) stand. 

If you don't know, well, Schrodinger's Dick, I suppose. 

Sex. 

Sex. 

Maybe we should all just say it a few times 

like school children learning anatomy and get all the fuss 

over with 

There's nothing to laugh about, after all. 

Its Sex 

Just Sex. 

Sex. 

Sex. Sex. Sex.