In literature and my imagination, sex
Is always paradise with ideal timing, shared
So silkenly with perfect partners, undefiled
By awkward chit-chat, smokes, or whining,
Bad breath, unclipped fingernails, or farts,
Broken condoms, zits, or disappointing parts;
No telephone intrudes, no television blares,
No former partner’s picture stares.
Prince Charming rummages in Fancy’s pants.
Poor cinder-sat Reality can’t stand a chance,
Though whisked in an enchantment to the dance.
Confused in her illusion, bound to lose,
She finds she cannot waltz in her glass shoes.
submitted January 2010