Sex Is

I never knew feeling like a puzzle piece
Was so good, on some Manhattan morning
It's still dark
And some mighty hand poured a pitcher of cream
Into the mold of a woman
The same curves, envy of sports cars and
The occasional expensive statuette
On the bed before me,
Marvelous and
Naked and everything I
Want and want to be

My knees are a precise
Foot and four inches apart and still digging into
Flower-printed flannel bedsheets
My face would be in the pillow if
Your hands hadn't found my hair first
This is crudity, this is the essence of the word
Fucking, you're an obscene cowgirl and I'm
The Madonna of sweat and how it makes everything
So much hotter
We're a cinematic dogma, you'll
Draw a cry from me that can't be uttered
In corner coffee shops
[particularily ones with live jazz musicians in
ten dollar suits with million-dollar taste]

What do you hear
When our chest are pressed together
The same gasping for air, the same
Plea for life, life, living that
People give in a frenzied hope, or our
Furious sense of pleasure
We're dying, same as
Fifty-cent sheet hospital beds and the smell of
Iodine, we're dying just as sure and we're loving it because
We know we'll live again
We always do
(Give me five more minutes and I can
Scream like I'm dying too)
Our pheonix-complex comes with
Skin against skin and curse words that
Your mother would weep to, so
Give me another
Spin and we can
Show the world how to
Melt