the literary myth

if you are following the distant shadow
of phaedrus or would like to take part
in the symposium, if you find delight
in the sonnets, wake up; there is no love.
maybe gays know something about it,
but even among them, it is probably
mostly lust. but in the straight world,
you are a sperm donor once or twice,
occasional muscles to move a wardrobe
across the room, and always an atm
made of flesh and bone, and naivety.
but once you are no longer required
for the former two, she will dump you
like an unpaired sock, unless you fit
into the upholstery of her new sofa,
as a chiwawa.

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