Released into you in a longing embrace,
I collapse in a gasping grasp of gratitude.
You receive me and feed me sweetness.
Against such intensity I have no defense.
Still, desire’s disease is never realized, is it,
as relief leaves with the urgency
of unrequited love, and I am left
once again to grapple single-handedly
with lust as you leave me alone
in favor of the phone.
I had a feeling something was going on
between you and the computer.
Passion gave way to contempt
as you made me feel neuter.
Yet arousal’s carousal proved
itself so relentless, I entered despotic
erotic dementia, my eroding aorta
entangled in tantalizing tentacles,
pursued by yapping snapping terriers
in enemy territory. Every blood cell
determined to boost genitalia
as I yielded to displays of a mad Saturnalia,
then pondered the blunder that led to our baby,
a line riding a screen that soon stopped being wavy,
till I realized the infant in question was only
the love that I’d wasted my life on: baloney.