Sex is music,
And a rhythm anyone can play,
A common theme as much as yesterday.
But music is not sex.
Give me those holy tones
Which melt above accidents and groans
And go inside the silver ear
As golden heaven lingers here
To please me in ways I cannot understand.
Sex is music, but now her hand
Is on the violin
Vibrating the receptors where sex has been,
And vibrating much more:
The loves whom the loves who love the most most implore.
I almost allowed you in my brain
With your beautiful confusion of evil and smile.
You confused me for a while.
Music is not sex.
No more will you perplex
The notes that swim in me
Which played about your ears when I wrote you poetry.