Poems, there. Happy?
I’m standing in a square
Surrounded by Towering buildings
Pounding the silence out of my brain.
A neon advert is flashing firesome
Buy these boxers, buy the sex.
But I just want the pair of boxers, thank you very much, or do I even want those boxers?
Now don’t get me wrong guys, I’m still thinking what most of you may be probably thinking.
Why does a man need a cobbled street ab-fest to sell what is supposedly the best?
Well, that’s a good fucking question.
See for me, my eyes stay on the chiselled man
And hey hey! It seems we’ve known the secret to successful marketing all along
Sex sexity sex, well woopty fucking do for you
I’ve got some news for…people, in general,
What if I thought this was all a tad too primal?
Because of that, Am I being elitist? Snobby? Prudish at best?
Well that would be the easy answer, way easier than believing that
For me, sex is so far down on my list of cares, that it’s sitting between
The litres of water needed to make a sheet of paper and the ancient gumstains on the street!
Sex is this thing that’s supposed to be so important to knowing who I am, and yet I feel so far removed from the tension of accepting physical connection leading to the notion that the sexy asian in the action movie with the broadened boobs is the image I should be focusing on in order to fulfil the understanding of who I am, that I don’t know what box to sit or stand in, I don’t know what circle or strata or spectrum or genre to fit in because for my whole life, I’ve focused on being happy alone rather than being happy with someone else that I feel Criminal, for not leaping to share my genitals with another human being.
And why should I?