The elemental urges are equal
To triangle, pyramid and diamond,
Constructs stacked neatly, an inverted wall,
Sterile, without a fructifying bond.
There can be love and sex without eros,
The wall of urges dashed with blunt arrows.
The source of the erotic is mental,
As dreams remind us with fleshless chaos,
And barred owls hoot in their ecstatic throes.
We decide love will be wild or gentle.
The eros of the imaginary
Turns lust into love, lovers to quarry.
Only the lovers’ minds can satisfy
By overwhelming the orgasmic lie.
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