Why is *** called making love
when there are so many other acts,
far less physical, far less cheap, than that?

The world reveals pristine, porcelain skin
over untouched and idle thoughts.
Undresses limbs over addressing morals,
Grips headboards over words,
Scrambles bedsheets over aspirations.

But fine, go ahead, call it love,
and wonder why young generations
grasp blindly at the concept
and consider themselves fools,
falling down again.