This is the next-best sex: nobody
used, disappointed, or hurt - and no-one
engendered by my spermless ejaculate.
A rug by the fire, the moon
shining through the window, 'Verklärte Nacht' playing,
pictures of hairy men kissing, hairy men squirting:
nobody used, nobody hurt, no misconnection.
Duende of climax
within a duende of solitude
like the greater duende of forest, of river
of peaceful and beautiful place
achingly real and not dependent
on hope or falsehood or people -
only dependent on something like grace...
Anthony Weir
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/duendes-self-realization-at-the-age-of-sixty-one/
