Mom always said,
“It would be a sin to waste food when kids are starving in Korea.”
By that logic, it would be a sin to not stroke each other for hours
when dance studios are crowded with lonely people
hoping a bossa nova brings them something closer than music.
It would be a sin to not kiss
when mouth to mouth dummies lie in their cases,
imagining near drownings, their saviors chosen from long lists.
It would be a sin to not get into each others’ pants
when there are used car salesmen out there
eyeing hip pockets as if they were the heirloom rosaries
they lost before First Communion.
It would be a sin for us to miss out on this chance
when there are mulletheads standing drunk and alone
as the DJ blasts Loverboy to herald last call.
It would be a sin to not discover the depth of the way we taste
when there are diners sniffing unpleasantly at their wine,
too afraid of ridicule to tell the server they don’t like it.
It would be a sin to not eat what’s in front of us
when there are club kids on X
starving in Chicago.
It would be a sin to not fall asleep together
when we can. It’s a sin that I even have to say this:
it’s a sin to look at each other this way
without immediately
closing our eyes.
Dark Matter 