Between my edgy looks

and splendid discussions,

has life become equivalent

to sex?

 

After all, who doesn’t enjoy

the delights of a mind

orgasm: laughter, intelligence,

adventure, guts, glory.

The whole shah-bang, the nights

that rock your core and the

liquid courage that gives

you a long lost childlike

grin. Friends, lovers,

solitude, your soul-

they all glimmer.

 

Can disappointment be transferred

to the gloom of no sex or

in modern terms, “blue balls?”

Blue balls towards failure,

rejection, passive loves

and inner demons? The

unsatisfactory of a greasy burger

making its way to your thighs,

the lack of fulfillment an average book

ending brings.

 

If orgasms can be transferred to

success and failure the foundations

of being untouched, does the touch of life

satisfy most? The road of happiness,

filled with sensual glory and lessons

of solitude. But orgasms can spur from

solutide-self pleasure. The ability

to touch ones heart, find pleasure in

ones superb unique qualities. Moan at

your own self-worth loves! Depend

not on the world to provide

godly rapture.

 

Is life just another game of sex?

If so, is balance necessary? Do

we need the absence of heavenly

glee in order to appreciate those

who cause it or bask in our own

actions? Practice makes perfect-

said the sex god. But, we are all gods

bringing forth unparalleled

pleasures. We meet others

in search of sharing these sweets,

because who doesn’t enjoy mutual

satisfaction?