| I will slur
|
| And heel
|
| And hem
|
| And haw
|
| I will eat a monkey paw
|
| When you call me up and command me
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| To come over to your house
|
| For sex and tea biscuits
|
| I shall clandestinely drop my cumberbund
|
| Down the dumbwaiter chute
|
| Lutes will serenade us like liquid lemonade
|
| You will glisten like newborn snow
|
| And I will listen
|
| Like a clairvoyant nipple clamp
|
| It will be sex like nobody has ever had it before
|
| In the history of postmodern lovemaking
|
| It will be sex, even if it isn’t
|
| It will be sex, even if only in theory
|
| Even if it’s only pantomime
|
| Even if it’s just a memory
|
| Or a dream
|
| Or a symphonic approximation
|
| After a summer of autonomous sodomy
|
| And National Geographic specials
|
| About the pretty animals
|
| That use other animals as food by eating them
|
| On television
|
| But we shouldn’t even watch television
|
| We should just have sex
|
| Epoch making
|
| Earth shaking
|
| Teeth chattering
|
| Dish clattering
|
| Fish frying
|
| Eye popping
|
| Never stopping
|
| Bunny hopping
|
| Toe tapping
|
| Joseph Papping sex
|
| Shakespeare in the park kinda sex
|
| D train ride to Coney Island vacation kinda sex
|
| Clandestine in the airplane lavatory kind of sex
|
| Olympic marathon sex
|
| All the different ways that we feel like having sex
|
| We should
|
| Until we grow old and bored and disillusioned
|
| Then let us rekindle our feelings
|
| Forget our despair and our celibate nonsense
|
| And do it like bunnyrats till the cows come home to roost
|
| So call me sometime
|
| And let’s have sex |