The crux of humanity is foreplay.
The ocean that spins and tumbles me into nausea,
forces my knees to buckle while it teases
the baby crustaceans on the shoreline
with the possibility of a dangerous
future. Despite all of science,
we have, after thousands of years,
determined that dawn will welcome us
into the warmth of her bosom with only a
strong probability. Why then do we wait

for her unfaithful fingers to run
through our hair? Why do we plant
rows of corn and beckon her to come,
fearing the day she explodes into
a red giant and engulfs us in her
nuclear fervor? Because we are hungry,
lonely lovers, hoping to tempt each other
in and out of bed in a long game
where the winners and losers are not
so very distinct.