A poem by Kenneth Robinson

SEX

Don't get me wrong,
You don't need a reason to have sex.
But where are you in it all?

Would you ever bring to him the places where you're wrong? Your broken cup?

Would you ever bring to her 
The hidden games?
The list of names?
The flaws?
The trespasses?
The places you cannot break through?
 The ones your daddy, or your momma, or the preacher gave you.

Make love there too.
Grieve with your whole body.
Grieve when you're inside her.
Rage when he's inside you.

Say, here is my lust:
Make love to me here.
Here is my jealousy:
Make love to me here.
Here is my hiding,
Here is my coldheartedness,
Here is my unwillingness to feel,
Here is my unwillingness to give,
Here is my inept, inadequate, insecure, weak, shady, cowardly, self:
Make love to me here.

Let sex heal something,
Let sex do what it can do.
We don't even know all that it can do,
But we could find out.  Find out.
We just don't know what our lovemaking does to the world,
But we know if everyone got their fill of love  Walking on water would be commonplace.

There is nothing 
Like the beauty of your unlined face after sex
With the one who loves you.

From his book, The Year of Lovemaking and Crying