I was asking it, even then
I pulled a man down
and in, it was my burning skin
flushed red
the décolletage said plainly
when mirroring the memory –
is it love?
The pleasure was a puzzle
upon me, that my piece could
connect with another so easily
perfectly – and yet
the picture eluded me
indeed, confuddled me
that I should write it down
back then and years later
now, still vexed –
Does good sex create love?
Or does love create good sex?