Mute God's Torpor

I think about all that I don't understand about sex

from its venomous withholding to its fountainous lure
I think I'll make a list:

whispers whistling as the thrush,  

the roseate hue

soft curves tautened

corrugated heart beat

foul nethers, 

the addictive acridness of your beloved's smell

the fightin' urge to assert my own primacy

coarser sublunary trivialities

mute god's torpor

longeurs and mundanities, 

penetrating the musty concave fibers of distant galaxies

disconsolate blue after

wan remnants

In short

we screwed and then chatted 

disinterestedly
retired to our separate corners of the ring
to replenish and satiate our thirsts
for reddit and for tiktok

respectively

I thought

Why write a poem?  There are loads of poems
shelves sagging from the unread weight of them

I think I'll make another list:

because that folk singer died and I can't remember his name

so much to say 'bout

yr aunt's vacations, slavic ant vocations

heaven extends even unto the transactional sphere of corporations

because all I have left of my grandfather are his poems

wasps hum, roosters crow,

My folks are gone

my kids are gone

the stars remain

through these barren trees