In this life we exert our various tempos,
shunning bad habits and gathering clout,
reminding ourselves and each other in memos
of whatever we all get excited about.
We tap our pleasure from its very spout!
We’re anxious when it appears to flow in excess,
though often enough we repine when it is stopped.
Language sometimes fails to bind the sexes;
the copula slips its knot, and our joy is cropped.
The human world is so much visceralia –
objects we arrange as organs of mirth;
morality, a confused inter alia
that accrues to our lifelines shortly after birth
and regulates the modest clump of glee
I’m able to exact from you and you from me.