Most vacant of all Vacant-eyed Lovers,
you who planted our heads so firmly
in the crotch of your void:
Forgive us
for being such spiritual prudes,
interrupting your quivering pleasure
with our clinical curiosities.
But please, just this once,
can you tell us
why we settle for dusk,
when we could have the un-manifest
flirting with form?
Conflicting opinions,
when we could have
dreams dancing with dreams?
Why do we reach ?for that flavorless hothouse tomato,
self-respect,
when we could have the sweeter, organic variety:
resting with no edges?
And why is it so hard for us
to imagine earth
and each tender orb of consciousness
impaled by an imaginary dotted line,
“the axis of innocence”?
Okay, okay, sweetheart,
we’ll stop now.
No use trying to fathom what’s going on
inside that headless head of yours.
Besides,
only a fool
would force sobriety
on dizzy, faraway eyes
that plead:
The answer is in the licking.
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