When Bill Kushner heard I was writing sonnets, Bill being Bill asked me if I had written any with sex in them. I hadn’t. Bill suggested, “Why don’t you?” This sonnet was my first attempt, more philosophical than erotic.
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When I think of all the lovers I’ve had
It’s a blur, I’m afraid, of quantity
But there was quality in quantity
Angels found in the common crowd, riffraff
Whose amorous wings, far from this fact called earth
Took me up in heavenly abstraction
From the orgy really to the action
Of orgasm when remembered or birth
Or flame or premonition, Adam Eve.
Who can tell us what has been? For love, you
Have to wait, be as chosen as a Jew.
Love’s not Godot though and fortunately
When I think of Love’s smile softly I can
Remember those lips. Whose? I’ve forgotten. …
Cupid and Psyche