Hmmm ... This is not the poem I intended to write, but it's what I ended up with.
Here's a poem about sex life of a boomer lady as i could imagine. Enjoy!
[ bommers are those born after world war 2 and before 1990 ]
*blush*
Sex and Pizza
Once a classmate told me
sex is like pizza:
no matter how bad it is,
it’s still pizza. Strange, coming
from one of the unsexiest people
I knew. Didn’t believe him
until my early 20s
when all I wanted was hard,
kinked-out, unexplainable sex.
9 ½ Weeks sex. Blue Velvet sex.
The small town of my body
sent me outward to a friend
as local as my fingertips.
His body, beautifully taut,
and I was happy hour
poured into a miniskirt.
Before we knew it,
the quick blows of our bodies
struck together like rocks
catching spark.
Ass up, head down,
no stroking, no kissing,
just clumsy, fractional fucking
that was over before it began.
I remember walking
into the unfamiliar daylight,
sleep deprived and scorched
like a house gutted by fire.
Years later, I think
my classmate was right.
How else can I explain
the lip-biting, sloppy goodness
of exploration, of bodies seeking
those fine mistakes and digressions,
the cock and the pussy,
the world dividing into hemispheres,
sliced into its imperfect selves.
