deepundergroundpoetry.com

Vacation

You stare at me and query
if my love is still the same.
Open the velvety folds of my heart;
Grope to discover
if you feel its remains.

Don't worry.
It's not dead,
just transformed
from fireworks
to winks in the sky.

There's so much responsibility
tugging at the edges of me,
ripping me apart with no discretion
in each and every direction.

By the time half of me
does a fourth of one thing
and an eighth of another,
it only leaves about a sixteenth of me
that's free to do as I please,
which is usually clutching a pillow
and drifting off to sleep.

Yes, it seems my libido
went to chill in the Poconos
and forgot to inform me,
and I guess you, too,
because in your face,
I can read the...

I used to get it five times a night;
now I'm lucky if I get it once a month

blues.

I'd do anything
to chase that melody away
for more than a day,
but I don't want to create a lie:
having spirit and body
not working side by side.

That would be twice as draining
and a pattern I'd have trouble maintaining,
so before you ask me again
if my love is still the same,
I'm going to hunt for my libido
by taking the very next plane.

Note: If this is improperly classified, feel free to advise or put in the appropriate category.