the body is just a vehicle.

this is a sacred act,
an act we’ve somehow made it easy to manipulate,
to be accessible to anyone that pays us the smallest of compliments.
the sound of a zipper unzipping
is like a mating call
to anyone with blood running through their veins,
a pulsating heart.
we have made lust the substitute for love,
holding out as a sign of prudence
or snobbery “for something better to come along.”
instead of revering the body as a sanctuary where the worthy can rest.
each time a piece of clothing drops to the floor,
the numbness creeps in
and we’re forgetting where we are, the name of the person we’ve taken to bed.
so tell me how it feels,
the morning after.
it’s like an empty shell, all emotion shoved someplace deep.


3 thoughts on “the body is just a vehicle.

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