made to fit;
who can doubt
the God of it?.
I wrote this quatrain around the time of STEAL ME! and posted it yesterday as a
kind of place holder till I decided what I wanted to write next. The next morning I
jumped out of bed, stumbled to the computer, and erased it. I didn't know why I
felt so uncomfortable about it, but now I think I do.
The world has changed, and heterosexuality is no longer the single standard. Yes, men and women do fit, and if there is a God at all, or a Goddess, or a Pantheon, the remarkableness of this method for pleasure and procreation should, or could, be ascribed to Him, or Her, or Them. But that's not the only means of pleasing your chosen other. In fact, it’s not even, any longer, the only means of procreation. The world has changed enough for most of us to recognize that love is love, and the means of making love are creative and varied, and always have been, and exist between men and women, and men and men, and women and woman, and always have. Always have. The fact that I, or others, didn’t know that, or didn't recognize it if they did know it, has no bearing whatever on reality: it does. It is.
Our world seemed flat once, and now we know it's round — more or less round. My poem is dated, and its irony no longer "clever," as I thought it was when I wrote it. I'm not facile enough to write another one more suitable to the age we're living in, but if I was, it might go something like this:
[ regarding pleasure
anything goes --
as long as it’s mutually acceptable and
represents the consent of all involved..
I know; it doesn't rhyme. It's a different world.