Flirtations, romances and flowers and hearts,
The nuances, flavors, of amorous arts –
If all of these bore you, then let me remind you,
They really are all about sex.
Now I've got your attention, be you woman or man,
As anything sexual, said flippantly, can,
For where Venus is present, in the past or the present
Or future, she beckons – it's sex.
And the sexes may differ, but in this, they're the same –
They spring to attention at the touch of that flame,
Be they young or much older, be they timid or bolder –
At the touch of the flame that is sex.
But the arts of arousal, for the sexes, diverge,
As they each have their senses that urge.
For the men, it is vision, despite the derision
Of women – who're also for sex.
But they much prefer hearing, through feminine ears,
The words that arouse them and chase away fears.
And some may be fooled, but the others have ruled
That a man has to pay for his sex.
And it isn't a dollar, or ruble or yen,
Which may be a lot for the stingiest men.
It's a life that is asked for, and that's how it's paid for.
And now, you've learned all – about sex.
But the women, on hearing this nonsense, may yell,
“There's more to that thing than you've ventured to tell!
Or could it be this – ” and the women now hiss –
“that you don't know a thing about sex?
“For the men may spring up – it's just one of their acts.
And parts of us do – but we mostly relax.
And there's sight and there's hearing, but there's also that nearing,
There's touch and there's scent – and there's sex!
“For the men may be thinking that the males are the studs,
But in matters that matter, the truth is – they're duds!
For though they have feared us and though they've repressed us,
It is we who know more about sex.
“For what we relinquished, as patriarchs ruled,
And women, as sexless, were drilled and were schooled,
Is our rightful domain, and will always remain
That of women – the realm that is sex!”
And the men, who were silent, at the thought of the dollar,
Now in finding their voices, may join in, to holler,
“We're tired of this crap, from this prancing old chap,
For what does he know – about sex?
“For it's sex that we've wanted, since reaching our teens.
And though, oh too often, we hadn't the means,
Since our teens, we've been surging, and so we are urging,
That you stop all this talk about sex!”
So the men and the women, in this, are united,
That I tamp down the flame I ignited.
But though it is rude to be publicly lewd,
I wish I could dwell more on sex.
For I'm told by my spies that they have detected
A tower or missile that Mars has erected,
And they tell me there's moisture where Venus has pasture,
Yet it's time to put end to this sex.
But I'd opened a window – and if I now close it,
To whom will you bring the deposit?
But I can't be a banker to every dear wanker,
Though I've led you along with the sex.
And if some would be arcing and seeking release,
I wish there were ways, by which I could please,
But others, more "moral", are giving me oral
Instructions to cease with the sex.
So alas, it is time, because they all urge it,
To zip up the verse. If I'm leaving you turgid
On reading this ditty, then it's really a pity,
But I'll leave you alone with your sex.
And I also should say, as I bid you goodbye,
That I'm sorry that I cannot lie.
If you think I've been rude, because I've been crude,
Remember, it's all about sex.